


It's in the Brows

by Yombatable



Series: England's an Arsehole, Scotland's a Prat, It's a Match Made In Heaven [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drabbles, I like ScotEng, M/M, but whatev's man, probably slow updates, s'all g, sue me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-30 01:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 45
Words: 44,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3917692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yombatable/pseuds/Yombatable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How they put up with each other no one quite knows, but despite Scotland thinking England's an arsehole, and England thinking Scotland's a prat, they can still manage to thoroughly gross out Wales on a regular basis. </p><p>Drabbles for ScotEng, 'cause I get feels sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Safer in Cardiff

**Author's Note:**

> This is kinda sorta the sequel to 'Downpour', but honestly, they're unrelated enough that you don't really need to read that first.
> 
> Honestly this is just gonna be the place I dump all my ScotEng feels, so feel free to stick around if you wanna experience them with me.
> 
> Enjoy ;)

                Wales hated when they did this.

                He supposed he couldn't really blame- No, scratch that, he could totally blame them, if they can't keep to themselves while he's in the house then that should hardly be _his_ problem. It was like he wasn't even there, and granted he might not be independent, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to be treated equally in this little union they had going on!

                He let out an exasperated sigh as he watched them through the door, England happily lounging on the couch with Scotland's head perched in his lap, fingers twisting in his fluffy red hair, leaned so far over that their noses brushed, speaking in low voices, eyes hooded with the kind of promises he never wanted to apply to either of his brothers.

                Wales grimaced as England leant down just a little bit further to close the gap between the two of them, their mouths lazily moulding together with no visible intention to stop anytime soon, providing that England's back could hold out. For a man with the body of a twenty-three year old, the guy sure did act like an OAP.

                For some reason he couldn't bring himself to look away though, even as the kiss deepened so that their tongues were visible between presses of lips. It's like he was stuck to the ground with the saliva they were exchanging. _Gross._

                After a moment there was a breath of laughter from one of the two and England pulled away from the kiss, "Are you just going to stand there Wales?" he asked, a relaxed smirk pulling at his lips.

                "Like watching your brothers kiss, you sick bastard?" Scotland added not a moment later, his own smile more of a smug grin.

                Wales regarded them with dry apathy for a moment, "Not really," he said, his face forming a grimace, "It's more like when you see something so awful that you can't look away from it."

                "Aw, you don't mean that!" Scotland pouted as England chuckled and sat back so Scotland could sit up straight.

                Wales just raised an eyebrow.

                "Wales?"

                He was caught off guard for a short second at the tone of his younger brother's voice, "Hmn?"

                "In all seriousness, do you approve? Of us?" England asked, he didn't sound unsure or nervous, just interested, perhaps curious.

                Wales had no doubt that even if he said 'no' they'd continue to see each other, they were too bloody stubborn to listen to him, not about something like this. But there was something there that told him that he shouldn't say that, even if he wanted to, even if he _did_ disapprove of their relationship, because as much as he disliked his brothers most of the time, he _did_ want them to be happy, and if each other is what makes them happy, then so be it, who is he to keep them from that?

                Wales shook his head with a laugh, "Of course I approve, but you two being all lovey-dovey makes me want to vomit."

                England made an extremely unmanly sound as Scotland tackled him down onto the couch and started peppering kisses all over him, "Scotland, get-" another squeak, this time due to the fingers dancing over his stomach, causing him to begin to giggle uncontrollably, "Scot! Scot, sto-op it!"

                Wales rolled his eyes, as Scotland sat up, England with a quivering scowl on his face as he panted underneath him. Just as it seemed he was about to say something, Scotland leant back down to kiss him again, "Love you." He smiled.

                England rolled his eyes, "Careful, you're the one who'll be cleaning up Wales' sick."

                "I'll risk it." He replied, pressing their lips back together.

                "You two are insufferable." Wales watched them for a moment, but once again, they seemed much more interested in kissing than paying him any mind. He shook his head, leaving the room and resolving to leave for Cardiff before the day was through.

~~~~

                Scotland pulled away, glancing at the door, "Do you think we drove him out?"

                England chuckled, raising an eyebrow, "I'm beginning to think you wouldn't care if we did."

                Scotland exhaled a laugh, "It's been three days, _I'm_ beginning to think I wouldn't care."

                "Well good," England as good as purred, "Because I don't care either."


	2. If Phones Still Had Hooks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If phones had hooks anymore, his would be ringing off it, at the very least the buzzing was causing it to creep dangerously close to the edge of the table as Scotland scurried over to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting to think I can no longer justify the procrastination of DOTL to write ScotEng... Either way, I still wrote more ScotEng. 
> 
> IDK what this even is, all I know is that I kinda-really like mama bird Scotland, so this happened, oh well.
> 
> Enjoy ;)

If phones had hooks anymore, his would be ringing off it, at the very least the buzzing was causing it to creep dangerously close to the edge of the table as he scurried over to it.

                "Hello?"

                The phone was silent for a moment, before the sound seemingly decided to set in, "-tland! I've been trying to call you for the last hour, where the fuck were you?"

                Scotland rolled his eyes, the familiar very English voice holding a lightly higher level of irritation than the norm, even so, he wasn't all that worried about it. "In the bath," he replied, subconsciously running a hand through his wet hair, and wiping it off on his jeans, "What did you want? Aren't you in Belgium right now?"

                A sigh from the other end of the line, "At the EU meeting, yes."

                "So, what do you need me for, shouldn't you be out harassing some poor Belgian barmaid by now?"

                England grumbled out something unintelligible, "Remind me again why I joined the EU?" he asked, his voice sounding muffled, presumably because he'd buried his face in the pillows of his unsatisfying hotel bed.

                "Something about it being useful in the long run, or pissing off France, but those are your answers to everything so I don't know how that helps." Scotland stood, trotting into the kitchen as England took a moment to think about something.

                He was pulling a mug from the cupboard as England spoke again, "We should go back into isolation."

                Scotland snorted, "No, we shouldn't, you get lonely for someone so anti-social, and I don't want to have to be the only one to deal with you again."

                "But this time I'll sleep with you."

                "As tempting as that sounds..." Scotland hummed, "I'd rather Portugal continue to be the one you bitch to."

                "You're right, I'll just have to deal with these pricks until the EU collapses by itself."

                Scotland chuckled a little as he set the kettle to boil, "Bad day at work, honey?"

                "Shut up." The voice was muffled again, "I don't need you being a sarcastic arsehole too."

                "That's most of my personality, I'm afraid," Scotland replied, leaning down to stare at the steam that was beginning to drift out of the kettle's spout, "If you wanted a sensitive boyfriend you should have chosen... well, now that I think about it, most countries are arseholes."

                "Thank you, captain obvious."

                "You know, when you say things like that, you don't sound cool, you sound like a middle-aged, upper-class dad _trying_ to sound cool."

                "As if you're any better."

                "I like to think so," Scotland defended, as the kettle signalled itself to have reached boiling point with a click. "At the very least, I hope I don't sound upper class."

                "Don't worry, you don't."

                "And what us that supposed to mean?"

                "Oh, don't be so sensitive, it's a complement, the only reason I sound like this is because the government takes me more seriously when I do."

                "The government takes you seriously?"

                Another grumble could be heard from the other end of the line as Scotland picked up his finished tea and walked with it into the living room, "You should meet me in London when this meeting is over."

                "I'd rather meet you in Glasgow."

                "I'm sure you would," a heavy sigh, "Please Scotland?"

                Scotland smiled softly to himself, taking a seat, "Even a please? You really want me down there!"

                "That better mean yes."

                "Yes, yes, I'll meet you in your stupid capital."

                "Thank you," then quietly, " _Love you_."

                "You're a hopeless romantic, you know that?" he said with a chuckle, but not bitingly, and he knew England would be able to tell.

                "At least now I have someone to romance."

                Scotland let out a short breath of laughter, "Romance isn't what I'd call it, for someone who acts his age, you've got an abnormally high libido."

                "Well you certainly don't complain."

                "Did I ever imply that I do?"

                England hummed out a sceptical note, "I've changed my mind, we should go to my house in Yorkshire. I've had enough of people, London has too many of them."

                Scotland gasped dramatically, "The great England doesn't want to spend time in his _beautiful_ capital?"

                "You know what, you ca- oh bolloks."

                Scotland raised an eyebrow, "What is it?"

                "They've found me, it looks like I won't escape a hangover today, I'll talk to you later, okay?"

                "Okay, just don't hurt yourself, I don't want to have to go all the way to Belgium to pick you up."

                "Your concern touches me, it really does, Scotland."

                "Love you too, sweetheat!"

                "Whatever, you prat, if I drunk dial you later, allow me some dignity and hang up before I try to sex you up over phone."

                "Don't worry, the recorder's already set up."

                "I don't know why I bother, I really don't- What do you want?"

                Scotland chuckled into the phone at the muffled sound of a few voices cheering and laughing, "Scotland- no he doesn't want to talk- France, no, Fra-!"

                " _Bonjour chou-chou_!"

                "Hi, France, make sure that whatever stupid shit England does is caught on camera for me."

                "Not to worry, my friend, I am on the case! If I only have one purpose in life it is to ruin dear England's reputation!"

                The sound of some kind of struggle happened, Scotland waiting in quiet amusement as the phone was fought over, "Goodbye, I'm hanging up now."

                "Yeah, yeah, I mean it, be careful, I love you."

                "You too, bye-bye."

                The phone hung up.

                Scotland shook his head with a laugh, taking a deep gulp of his tea, turning his volume on high in anticipation of the call he would doubtless receive later that evening.

~~~~

                "Hello?" Scotland asked groggily, rubbing at his eyes.

                "Scotland, I-mm _really_ drunk," was the reply to his greeting, accompanied by a soft hiccup and followed by a snort of laughter, "Did you know that those fruity-girly drinks are delicious? They're delicious, I had like fi-ooor-vve... a lot."

                "Did you now?"

                "Uh-huh, not to worry though, I'm still standing, well, walking," another snort of laughter, "Have you ever tried to navigate Brussels after several fruity-girly drinks?"

                "I can't say I have."

                "It's really big. Smells like waffles," A short giggle, "When I get back you should make me waffles- no! Don't do that, make me a giant jammy-dodger, can we do that?"

                "I can't imagine it'd be all that practical."

                "Fuck practicality!"

                "That's easy to say after several fruity-girly drinks."

                England made a strange, strangled noise, that was probably supposed to be a curse, "I'll be _fi_ ii _iine,_ you have nothing to worry about!"

                "Go back to the hotel and get some sleep, call me back in the morning when you're sober,"

                He could practically feel England's pout through the phone, "Baby!" he whined, "Don't you want to talk to me?"

                Scotland snorted, "I want you to get back to the hotel in one piece. Are you with anyone?"

                "Pfft, okay _Mum_. I'm with Prussia, but he went to vomit in a bush, and I got bored waiting for him to come back so I called you."

                "Find him and get your drunk arses out of the streets, I'll call you in the morning."

                "Yeah, yeah."

                "Goodnight England."

                "Goodnight, you killjoy!"

                Scotland found himself rolling his eyes as the phone hung up, glancing at the clock to find it was well past midnight, and settling back into his bed. With any luck that idiot would find his way back to the hotel... and with even more luck, after a day of hung-over meetings and travel, the guy would have plenty of... _tension,_ to get rid of.


	3. I Don't Even Use The Euro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day of hung-over meetings will drain even the most patient of beings. Unfortunately, England is not the most patient of beings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll write DOTL eventually, I promise, just not right now, 'cause ScotEng just keeps happening...
> 
> This drabbly thing is a direct follow-up to the last one, so now you have some context, YAY!
> 
> Enjoy ;)

"Wake up, England, you're late to the meeting."

                England swatted the hand away that was ruffling his hair, and weakly kicking at the weight that had roughly dropped on the bed, his head pounding, and eyes heartily protesting the amount of light in the room, "Fuck off Scotland," he rasped through his dry throat, "Whatever it is, I don't care."

                "It's not Scotland," the voice said, making England open his eyes in confusion, to see a definite mop of red hair in front of his face, but not the right shade, resembling the shade of a carrot more than the darker auburn that Scotland's was, "It's Ireland you little shit. We don't even sound alike."

                England scowled at him for a moment in slight confusion, before realizing where he was and why he was hung over, groaning into his pillow, "Why're you here?"

                "To wake you up, the meeting started thirty minutes ago, I drew the short straw on finding out where you were."

                "Your point?"

                "Exactly how drunk _did_ you get last night?"

                "Drunk enough that I don't know how I got back here."

                "Germany said Prussia was with you when you got back and that both of you were pretty out of it, he also said that you smelt of vomit."

                England groaned again, "That doesn't surprise me in the slightest. I remember France insisting that I try those fruity-girly drinks, but after a few everything becomes a blur."

                "You know those things are  mostly Vodka, right?"

                He nodded.

                "Are you gonna get up or do I have to drag you?"

                He shook his head, "I'm getting up, start the meeting without me, I'll join you after break when I've had a shower."

~~~~

                _I hate Europe._

_God, I'm so glad I'm an island._

_Is there a gun somewhere so I can shoot everyone here and then myself?_

_Damn it, if America were here I could steal one from his arsenal..._

_If I was stealthy I could probably steal one from someone with looser gun laws..._

_No, that's a terrible idea._

_I don't even use the Euro,_

_Thank God._

_If I leapt out the window what would be my chances of survival?_

_Four stories, plus the broken glass I'd land on..._

_Slim._

_Bugger this, I could be in bed right now._

_France, I swear to god if you don't stop talking soon I'm going to impale you with a pen._

_Deep breaths, old chap, it'll be over soon._

_I should do serious research into technology to move my island further from the continent._

_Iceland seems pretty happy out there..._

_Minus the volcanic eruptions, of course._

_Scotland better be in the mood for a massage when I get home._

_Maybe if I just re-claimed Australia and moved my entire population there..._

_No, Australia would get huffy about that._

_And I hate spiders._

_No, my island's fine..._

_I hate Europe._

~~~~

**Scotland**

**_What time will you be arriving, did you want picking up or are you gonna get a taxi?_ **

_Around 8:30, could you pick me up, I'm exhausted._

**_Sure thing, how was the meeting?_ **

_Awful, I shouldn't have gone out drinking last night._

**_Well, I'm not going to say I told you so, but..._ **

_Just for that comment you're giving me a back rub when I get home._

**_You're such a baby._ **

_The baby that gives your arse any action, so watch it._

**_Okay, okay, I'll be at the station at 8:30 with a flask of tea for you._ **

_Thank you, you're an angel._

**_I know I am._ **

_Don't ruin it._

~~~~

                England as good as collapsed into Scotland's car, letting his head loll back against the head rest, closing his eyes and breathing out a deep sigh. Scotland chuckled and brushed his hair from his face, making him open one of his eyes to look at him tiredly, "Here, your tea."

                He plucked a flask from the cup holder, holding it out to England who took it with a small smile, taking a long gulp, "Thank you," he said quietly.

                "You're welcome, ready to go home?"

                "Oh god yes."

~~~~

                England groaned happily as Scotland's thumbs dug into his naked back, his rough palms smoothing over the area afterwards to soothe it, followed quickly by his equally rough lips. He still wasn't entirely sure why Scotland had agreed to give him a massage, but, he supposed, ever since they'd gotten together the northerner had been much more agreeable. It dawned on him rather suddenly that he was probably only being as dickish as he was because he had no idea how to deal with his feelings, he'd be lying if he didn't know what _that_ felt like.

                He hummed happily. "Scot?"

                The man kneeling above him, equally nakedly, leant over him, kissing at the back of his neck playfully as he made a sound of acknowledgement.

                "Why do you love me?"

                "What kind of question is that?"

                "Indulge me."

                "I wish I could, but I don't know the answer. Why do you love me?"

                England though on that for a moment before he answered, "There is no one reason, and none of them can be put into words."

                "You're so sappy," Scotland laughed a little, digging his thumbs into the small of England's back, making him groan blissfully, and let out a shaky breath, "Oh, did I hit a sweet spot there?"

                "Oh god yes," England breathed, making Scotland chuckle, "There is perfect."

                As Scotland repeated his previous action England moaned again, and Scotland leaned down to press a kiss to his ear, "Keep making those sexy little noises and this might not stay all that innocent."

                England smiled a little, turning his head away from the pillow, his eyes cracking open lazily, "Do you not think I'm making them for a reason?"

                Scotland pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, "You're a sneaky bugger, aren't you?"

                England twisted a little to press their lips together in a real kiss, "I like to think so."

                Scotland let out a breath of laughter, a smirk coming to his lips, "We'll see how smug you are in a minute."


	4. Here's to Soundproofing!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A note calling all of the siblings of the British Isles to Stonehenge... Weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK what this is, I'm sorry.
> 
> A quick thing before we start, the 'nation hopping' thing that Wales mentions is a HC of mine that Nations can 'hop' to anywhere in their country instantly, not without consequence, short distances like across a city aren't so bad, but when they try to hop greater distances they get exhausted, and have to recuperate afterwards for a while... IDK Headcanons man, aren't they fun! I could explain this better but it's late so I won't.
> 
> Enjoy ;)

                "England!" Scotland called, blinking down at the note in his hand with slight disbelief.

                "What?" was the slightly surly reply.

                "Have you done anything to piss off the fae recently?"

                "No... Why?"

                "Because I've- uh... I think you should just come here!"

                England entered the room a few moments later, a confused expression on his face, "What is it?"

                Scotland held out the note, "Read it, maybe you can make heads or tails of it."

                England frowned as he took the note, unfolding it, and reading over it quickly, his face morphing through irritated to confused to worried and back to confused. "What?"

                "My thoughts exactly."

                "Why would they call us to the henge?"

                "I have no idea! I haven't been there in almost a thousand years!"

                "My last visit was almost forty years ago."

                "Do you think Wales or North got the same message?"

                "I'll call Wales, you call North, let's see if they know what's happening."

                "Righto."

~~~~

                "Did you get a note too?" Was what England was greeted by as the phone was picked up.

                "Scotland found it this morning, do you know what's going on?"

                "'Fraid not, wish I did."

                "How soon can you make it there?"

                "A few hours if I left now, you?"

                "We're in Yorkshire, it might take a while if the traffic's bad."

                "I could probably stall for you, unless you wanted to nation hop?"

                England frowned, tapping his foot on the floor as he took a moment to consider that, "I don't want to drain myself, in case I need to use magic when I get there though."

                "No worries, just floor it and if you get pulled over flash them your _'I'm a very important man so you better let me go right now'_ card, and you won't have to worry about it."

                England sighed, "Alright, just keep them busy until North, Scotland and I can arrive."

                "North got one too?"

                "I can only assume so, Scotland's on the phone with her now."

                "Alright, bye."

                "Bye Wales."

~~~~

                "It looks normal, nothing but tourists and drizzle," Scotland said, raising at brow at the scene.

                "I know, this is so strange." England pulled up directly in front of the entrance, stopping the car exactly where they weren't supposed to park, recognizing Wales' car in a similar position a little further along, and got out, knowing that any parking ticket he got would be instantly nullified.

                They trotted up the hill toward the stones, where they saw an impatient Wales tapping his foot and waiting for them, "What's going on?" Scotland called to him, making him turn and jog over to meet them.

                He seemed caught between a smile and a frown, and kept switching between them as his mind struggled to settle on an emotion, eventually it seemed to decide on an amused glare, "You two are the root of all our problems, you know that!" he groused, poking each of them once in the chest.

                "What did we do?" they asked in unison, grimacing at each other as they realized what they'd done, and making Wales chuckle a little.

                "Shack up! That's what you did! The fae found out, and now they're throwing a feast for the two of you! And here I was thinking there was some kind of disaster!"

                "They did what?"

~~~~

                On the other side of the henge, where there was less drizzle and more faeries, England and Scotland sat at the head of a long table, drunk blushes covering their cheeks, as they giggled into each other's necks. There was little that could compare to wine made by faeries, and that was something that all of the siblings that inhabited the British Isles could agree on as they sipped at the stone goblets held in their hands.

                "Here's to these two knob-ends!" Ireland said, standing and gesturing for Wales and Northern Ireland to do the same, "Finally getting some fucking action!"

                There was a cheer from everyone and thing at the table.

                "And here's to sound-proof walls," Wales laughed, "Without which North and I would have committed suicide by now!"

                Another cheer, and a hearty laugh from both England and Scotland.

                "I hate to be _'that guy'_ and get all sentimental," Northern Ireland smiled, tipping her head at the two of them, "But here's to your happiness, god knows you two are fucking killjoys alone!"

                A final cheer and everyone downed their wine.

                England leant his head on Scotland's shoulder, pressing his lips to his ear, before giggling into it, "I'm glad you were an idiot."

                Scotland snorted, "So am I, who knows how long this would have taken otherwise? Maybe a little less would have been nice though."

                "We have all the time in the world now." England leant round, kissing at his jaw, "Anyway, I'm glad it happened the way it did, I wouldn't take back _that_ sex for anything."

                "I'm glad I could deliver, I'd hate to disappoint," he chuckled into England's hair, breathing in a little the smell of his shampoo and something flowery that no doubt came from something the faeries had done.

                "Who knew you two would be so tooth-rotting?" asked Northern Ireland, raising an eyebrow at the pair and taking an amused sip of her re-filled wine.

                "You know what they say about two negatives making a positive," Ireland replied with a shrug, swirling his own wine around his goblet.

                "I wouldn't exactly call _this_ a positive, you haven't had to share a house with 'em," Wales chuckled, eyeing the pair over this goblet as he too took a swig.

                "No, I haven't. And thank you, Wales, for putting that image in my head," Ireland grimaced, shaking his head roughly before taking a heavy gulp, "That's something I could have gone my whole life without imagining."

                "Surely the thought of us having sex isn't _that_ bad," Scotland said, a deliberate tone in his voice that England quickly picked up on.

                "Oh, no, the sex is _wonderful_ after all."

                "Guys."

                "He makes the sexiest little noises."

                "Guys!"

                "He gets red all over."

                " _Guys!_ "

                "I just love to bite his-"

                " ** _GUYS!_** "

                England and Scotland burst into laughter at the disgusted faces of their siblings, as the three of them blocked their ears or in the case of the two Irelands, blocked each other's.

                "That was uncalled for!" Wales groaned.

                "Eugh, now I'm- Ew, guys!" Northern Ireland shook her head rapidly, as if trying to force the thought from her head.

                "You guys brought it up," Scotland snickered.

                "Yes, but we didn't mean- Jesus!"

                "Using the lords name in vain Ireland?" England gasped sarcastically.

                "Oh give it a rest. At least I know what religion I am."

                "Yeah, well-"

~~~~

                As can probably be expected they spent the rest of the night at that table drinking a little too heavily, until they were all found the next morning asleep in the centre of Stonehenge and arrested. Needless to say, England's boss wasn't overly happy at having to bail his country and his four siblings out of jail, as it seemed that at some point that night their wallets had disappeared and with them their _'I'm a very important man so you better let me go right now'_ cards, were nowhere to be found. It didn't matter that much though, it just gave England and Scotland more opportunity to thoroughly disgust their siblings, which was a little more fun than it should be...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending's a cop-out, I know, but I'm lazy, so this is what I got. Sorry bro.


	5. You're Being An Idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get in a fight, and both of them are idiots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a few days since I wrote anything... oh well, here we are.
> 
> I don't think there are any more notes to put here, so...
> 
> Enjoy ;)

                "Get the fuck out!"

                "Oh, yes, just push me away and ignore me like you do all your other problems!"

                "I mean  it, Scotland! Get the fuck out of my house and don't bother coming back!"

                "Don't worry! I won't be!"

                The slamming door made them both flinch, but it didn't make either of them look back.

~~~~

"You're being a idiot."

                Scotland scowled at the blonde-haired Frenchman across from him, dressed uncharacteristically sloppily, and raising an eyebrow at him over his coffee.

                "What the fuck do you mean _I'm_ being the idiot!" He growled, "It's clearly not my fault!"

                France rolled his eyes, "I don't care who's fault it is, in fact it was probably a joint effort, my point is that you're both acting like children."

                "Oh, like you're one to talk."

                France waved a hand in dismissal, "I am not in a relationship with the man, effective communication is not important."

                "So you're saying I should _talk_ to him? Well gee France, I hadn't thought of that! Had you considered that the stubborn little brat _won't_ talk to me?"

                Once again, France rolled his eyes, making Scotland clench his jaw in irritation, "Scotland, my dear, had you considered that your idea of talking is normally mindlessly dumping your unfiltered opinions upon whichever unfortunate soul is unlucky enough to be caught in the crossfire?"

                He raised his brows pointedly at Scotland, making him sink back against the sofa with a pout, "It's not _that_ bad."

                "It is, now, I want you to go back to England, and have an adult conversation. Relationships aren't all sunshine and roses, if you can't work through _this_ then I pray for your future relationship partners."

                Scotland sighed, leaning forward and running a hand through his hair, "I don't _want_ future relationship partners, I just don't know how to approach him about it."

                France sighed, smiling a little in a mixture of sympathy and amusement, "There isn't a way to approach him. You just have to do it. Now suck up that pride and make him tolerable again before the next meeting."

~~~~

                He could hear England's phone ringing from outside as he pressed his ear to the door. Gritting his teeth and frowning, he pulled out his keys and entered the house. It was quiet when the phone rang off, eerily so as Scotland checked around the downstairs rooms, void of any life other than the occasional twinkle of some magical creature lounging on something soft. He bit his lip as he climbed the stairs, wondering whether he should call out or not.

                He heard the sound of water splashing from the bathroom, and followed the noise, pushing the door open a little to see England submerged to his neck in the bath, swirling suds around with his fingers. "Why'd you come back?" he asked, not looking up.

                Scotland hesitated on an answer for a moment, momentarily unsettled by the calm in England's tone,  "France informed me that I was being an idiot."

                England scrunched up his nose, "You went to that tosspot?"

                "Who else am I supposed to go to?" Scotland replied, trying his best to sound less exasperated that he was, "He is Europe's big brother, isn't he? The guru on all things romance?"

                England rolled his eyes, his mouth dropping below the water for a moment, blowing out a few bubbles, "That's what he likes to say, isn't it?"

                "England. _Arthur_ , we need to talk."

                "France tell you that too?"

                "Arthur..."

                "Whatever, Scotland, talk then."

                "I don't want to talk if you're not willing to listen."

                "I'm here, all ears, talk away."

                Scotland sighed, walking over to the side of the tub and kneeling beside it so his chin rested on the rim, "Look, I know you don't get any say in our gov-"

                "I _can't_ propose that Scotland." England finally met his eyes, a strange expression on his face, a mixture of irritation and something like sadness, "You know that."

                "You _can_ but you _won't_."

                "It would be a waste of my time and yours."

                "This argument is a waste of time!"

                England growled, sliding down in the tub so his head went below the water. Scotland waited while he sat below the water, the occasional bubble reaching the surface, until he came up for breath, his eyes staying closed and his hair messily plastered to his face, "I don't know what to say to you, whatever I do you're going to be unhappy with the outcome."

                Scotland sat back on his haunches, a deep frown on his face, "How can you be so sure? Wh-"

                "Alistair! It's not going to happen!" England glared at him, his voice strained, "I hate to disappoint you, but you've just got to accept that!"

                A hand touched Scotland's face, England's face holding a cautious and what he probably considered to be apologetic expression, "I'm sorry, Scotland, I am, but it's not going to happen. I wish it could, but there's nothing I can do."

                He grit his teeth, his jaw clenching, as he darted his eyes away from the other's "Fine, I get it."

                A thumb brushed along his cheekbone, making him look back up, "Scotland, I-"

                He wrapped a hand around the back of England's neck, pulling his forward into a gentle kiss, "I get it, there's nought you can do about it, I'm being stubborn."

                England smiled strangely, as if he couldn't quite attach an emotion to it, "I think that was the most mature conclusion to a disagreement we've ever had."

                Scotland released a short breath of laughter, "Well, I can't very well invade you these days. Now can I?"

                England hummed, his eyes flicking over Scotland's face, "You could try, but since we share an army that might prove difficult."

                Scotland didn't reply, but leant back to pull off his shirt, earning a confused look from England.

                "What're you doing?" he asked, sitting up a little straighter.

                "Joining you, I haven't had a bath in ages," Scotland replied, kicking off his trousers and his socks.

                "Great, and I was having such a lovely time as well."

                Scotland rolled his eyes as he removed the last of his clothes and awkwardly slipped into the bath, ignoring the water that splashed over the edge. He faced England who was regarding him with a raised eyebrow, and frowned considering their position for a moment, "No, I think the other way."

                England chuckled as Scotland's back rested against his chest, the man giving a content sigh as he did so, "Ah, yes, this is better."

                "Happy there?"

                "Very."

                England's hands rested on his sides, drawing lazy lines up and down, and in return Scotland did the same to England's legs, the two of them falling into a content silence. And like that they stayed, until Scotland said something stupid which resulted in a great deal of the bathwater ending up on the floor.  


	6. Why Are My Kids So Tall?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK, I got bored, and ScotEng is still happening. I had to write one with Canada because he's my precious child, also AmeCan is a thing I ship so that's here too.
> 
> Enjoy ;)

                "Hey, Scotland I forgot to tell you that Canada is going to be visiting for a few days, and-"

                "Canada's visiting?"

                "Is that not what I just said?" England said as he turned around from the kettle to look at the other, laughing a little when he saw the eager expression on his face. "He should be here a little after two, I presume you want to join me in picking him up from the airport?"

                Scotland nodded, "Yeah, I'd love to see the little scamp again."

                "He's taller than you by a good two inches," England laughed, before frowning, "Why are my kids so tall?"

                "Three of them are within the top six largest countries in the world, did you really expect them to be shorter than you?" Scotland asked sceptically.

                England's face took on the expression that Scotland instantly recognized as his _'my babies are all grown up I can remember when they were barely up to my knee how did they grow up so fast'_ face, making him roll his eyes, "But they were so small."

                Scotland sighed, shaking his head with a quiet laugh, but knowing well enough by this point that it was better to just play along. "Yeah, I know, I was there."

                "They were so cute."

                "Once again, I was there."

                "Why did they have to grow up?"

                "That's what kids do, I'm afraid."

                "But why _mine_?"

                Scotland laughed, walking over to England and pecking him lightly on the lips, "Stop being such a sappy old man."

                England frowned, prodding him hard in the side, "Shut up, you moan about me growing up all the time!"

                Scotland nuzzled his face sarcastically, "Oh but you were so cute!" He cooed, "Now you're such an ugly fucker."

                England swatted at his ear, "Get off it, like you're any better looking."

                "You're right, but we've got each other, two ugly fuckers together."

                England narrowed his eyes, but his gaze softened at the same time, "Who's sappy now?"

                "I have my moments, thank you very much."

                England hummed out a note in the affirmative, leaning up to kiss him.

~~~~

                "Canada, my boy! How was your flight?"

                Canada smiled a little as he returned England's hug, "Long, I flew from Vancouver."

                "Well, let's get you home and then you can relax," Scotland said, tugging Canada into a rough hug himself.

                Canada nodded, "I'd like that, can we stop for coffee though?"

~~~~

                "Scotland?"

                Scotland looked up from the TV, at Canada who was standing a little ways behind the sofa, making a questioning noise in the back of his throat.

                "I really don't mean this in a rude way, but why are you here?" Scotland frowned a little in confusion before Canada hastily explained himself, "I mean that normally you don't like staying in London!" he said, "I usually have to go to Glasgow to see you, and normally you've insulted England at least once by now, or you know, vice versa, and don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. You're just acting weird, eh?"

                Scotland bit his lip, unsure as to whether to tell the boy or not. He knew that he likely wouldn't say anything about it, the boy was really too polite for his own good, and since almost every country is related to each other in some way or another he was sure if they ever did go public with the whole thing the backlash wouldn't be _terrible_ , but that didn't mean he was _ready_ for anything to go public. No,  he was over thinking this, Canada wouldn't go out and blab to the whole world, not if _France_ of all people hadn't. The rest of their family had been fine with it, Wales, North, and Ireland, completely okay, so why not the extended family, Canada, America, Australia, New Zealand, Hong Kong, Sealand, the list just kept on going... Damn, England had a lot of kids-

                "Scotland?"

                Oh yes, he should probably make up his mind and answer the boy.

                He didn't get a chance to before England interrupted, "We've mended ties as of late," he said coolly, "I think you and Alfred should know what I mean."

                Canada looked confused for a moment before his face coloured and his mouth formed a small 'o' shape, "How did you know about that?"

                England sent him a sideways smile, "For someone so quiet you really don't know how to keep the noise down."

                "Oh my god!" His face was bright red now, although you could hardly see it as he'd buried it as deep in his hands as was humanly possible, "I told Al we needed to be quieter! How many other people know?"

                "I'm not sure, but India definitely does."

                "How does India know?!"

                "You interrupted us. I'll tell you, it was mighty hard to avoid teasing Alfred about that 'Great Lakes' line, you owe India for that one, he's a better man than I."

                "Oh my god!"

                "England will you stop torturing the poor lad?"

                England chucked, but shrugged, wandering over to the settee that Scotland was sitting on, "I'm sorry, couldn't help myself."

                Canada took his head out of his hands, "So you two are...?"

                "Together?"

                "Yeah, that."

                "Yes."

                "Oh, okay."

                Canada turned around, his face still bright red, and made a bee-line for one of England's cupboards, one which Scotland was fully aware contained a variety of alcohols of varying strength. He shuffled around for a moment while the two older countries watched him amusedly until he turned around, a bottle of something in his hand, taking a heavy swig.

                "Whatcha got there?" Scotland asked with a light laugh.

                "The whiskey I bought England last Christmas," he replied, "I need to call Al." And without another word he left the room.

                England settled back on the sofa, a self-satisfied smile on his face, "Well, I think he handled that rather well."

~~~~

                "Well, y'know what Al? I have the tape to prove it!"

                ...

                "Yeah, I saved it!"

                ...

                " _Oh Mattie, Mattie! Mattie YES!_ "

                ...

                " _Yes, I want Ontario in Lake Erie!_ "

                ...

                "Just admit you prefer when I top!"

                ...

                "'Cause It's fuckin' true, eh?"

                ...

                "Well it's still your fault we got caught!"

                ...

                "No, it's you! You- Alfred? America! Did you- He hung up!"

                Canada growled to himself and spun on the spot to storm out of the room before halting abruptly when he saw England and Scotland leaning against the doorway, matching smug grins on their faces. His eyes widened, "How much of that did you hear?"

                "Not much, but tell me," Scotland said, with a sly smile, "How deep into Lake Erie does Ontario go exactly?"

                Canada went the shade of Scotland's hair, "Oh my god!"


	7. Promise Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, I've reached a new level of procrastination... Dear God... I needed to be writing an essay. Aha, oh well, the deed is done now.
> 
> Enjoy ;)

                Scotland was awoken from a rather lovely dream involving the rain and the way it looked when dripping from his lover's hair, to the sound to whimpering at his side. He frowned into the dark, blinking a few times before waking up enough to turn his head in the direction of the noise.

                England's face was screwed up, stray tears staining his cheeks, as he mouthed something helplessly into the pillow. Scotland reached over to him worriedly, touching his cheek gently, but the sleeping England jerked away slightly, "No... No, please-" His voice was cracked and almost inaudible, but that only served to worry Scotland further.

                "England?" He whispered quietly.

                He received only a shaky exhale and quick intake of breath which strongly resembled a sob.

                He reached forward again, and once again England jerked away, but this time Scotland kept going, pulling the man into his arms, despite his weak and mumbled protests of "No, no, please. No. Don't- please."

                He held him gently, resting England's head against his collar, and pressing his own face into England's hair to press a kiss to his scalp. "Shh, you're safe," he promised softly to the hair just above England's ear.

                "I promise you, you're safe. I'm here, I've got you. I promise..."

                He repeated this mantra for a few minutes, or maybe it was tens of minutes, he wasn't sure, nor was he counting, but after a while the heavy whimpers died down and the shivering breaths evened. Scotland pressed another light kiss to England's forehead, whispering, "I've got you. Whatever it is, I've got you," and finally allowing himself to drift back to sleep.

~~~~

                Scotland was awoken from a not entirely pleasant dream involving the paperwork he'd neglected to do and England boss being a total asshat about it, to the feeling of chapped lips against his neck. He cracked open his eyes, blinking a few times before waking up enough to glance down in the direction of the feeling.

                England looked up at him, his expression uncharacteristically venerable, and pulled him down into a kiss, hands hesitant around his neck, and body not quite close enough to be touching. When the kiss broke Scotland reached up to run a thumb over his cheekbone, "What was that for?"

                England's expression wavered for a brief moment, before he seemed to decide he'd rather not say, and initiated another kiss, soft but just a little desperate.

                Scotland broke it after a few seconds, worry on his face, "You had a nightmare last night, do you want to talk about it?"

                England let out a shaky breath, shaking his head, "Just promise you're not going anywhere. I don't- I mean-" he let out a noise of frustration at being unable to find the words he wanted in his own language, "I love you," He finally said, "I love you so much."

                Scotland wrapped his arms around the other, burying his face in his wiry hair, "I love you too, you know that."

                England replied by hugging Scotland so tightly that he thought his ribcage might just collapse. He didn't protest though, not as much as his lungs screamed at him to, because if he cared about England at all he needed to be there for him now, and if a broken ribcage meant England went back to his usual grumpy self, then he'd do it a million times.

                "Promise me?"

                The question was muffled against Scotland's chest, but even still, Scotland looked down with a puzzled expression.

                England shuffled up the bed, pressing their noses together, his eyes shut tight, "Promise me you're not going to leave?"

                "Is that what all this is about?"

                England shook his head, a grimace on his face, "You- You, and Wales, and North, I-" He sucked in a deep breath to calm himself, "I don't want- not like everyone else."

                The younger country seemed to lose every ounce of willpower he had left after that, letting out a sob, "America, and Canada, and South Africa, and Australia, and New Zealand, and-" he choked a little, "India, and- and Ireland, and-"

                "England, stop."

                England refused to look at him.

                "England, stop. I mean it. They're gone, and there's nothing you can do to change that now. Wales, North, and I aren't going anywhere, I promise, not right now, so shut your blubbering." He pressed a kiss to England's temple, "We're staying here. I promise."

                Once again, England hugged him close, sniffling into his chest every now and again, "I'm sorry."

                Scotland hummed out a questioning note.

                "I'm sorry, you're right, I'm being an idiot."

                Scotland shook his head, "You're not, just being a big old cry-baby. I guess you really are the same lad who used to go crying to Mum every time I so much as touched you."

                England breathed out a laugh, "You bullied me. Mum was rather good at stopping that from happening."

                Scotland smiled a little, "Yeah, well, we were kids."

                England grumbled something into Scotland's neck which sounded distinctly like, "You were a bloody prick is what you were," but Scotland chose to ignore it and settle back onto the pillow, sighing as England relaxed into him and they both fell back to sleep.

~~~~

                Scotland was awoken from a dreamless sleep to the feeling of England's soft breathing against his neck. He smiled, blinking a few times before waking up enough to decide that waking up was a stupid idea, and cuddling himself back into England's gentle embrace.


	8. Keep It Above The Waist, For Wales' Sake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote more ScotEng... oh crap, bugger it, DOTL is already late... it can wait another day or two...
> 
> On another note, Wales is my beautiful asexual babe, fight me.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                Wales narrowed his eyes as he approached the door to England's house. He knew for a fact that both other nations were in there, and he also knew that if they were together there was about a 90% chance one of them was fucking the other into a flat surface.

                Yes, he knew what you were thinking. _Gee Wales, you're being melodramatic! It can't be_ that _much! They just love each other! They just-_ No! Shut up! They're completely as bad as he made it sound!

                He wished he were making it up, but he'd already walked in on them -a lot- more than once, and the worst part is that is the more it happened, the less bothered they seemed by it, so now they just kept going. Wales shuddered, he never understood the appeal of wiggling one's naked body against another's, but if England and Scotland's relationship had taught him anything it's that it most probably _was_ all it was cracked up to be. Jesus, he knew England was a promiscuous little fucker ever since he hit puberty, but never had he been so bloody _blatant_ about it.

                The conclusion he'd come to was that they were both just dicks.

                Small, unimpressive dicks that were attached to large, unimpressive dicks, who became large, unimpressive dicks in the hopes that their small unimpressive, dicks wouldn't matter.

                He chuckled a little at the thought, reaching the top of the stairs and pressing an ear to the door. He waited a moment in silence until he heard voices from the other side, but the wood was too thick to make anything out.

                He rolled his eyes, deciding to walk around the back and check in the window. As he walked he crossed everything he had two of and prayed that they were just drinking tea.

                But of course they weren't just drinking bloody tea.

                He groaned mournfully as he whipped his head away from the window and the scene that was taking place on the other side of it. Kisses he could deal with, but only when they were firmly above the waist, thank you very much.

                "I really should start calling ahead," He muttered irritably to himself, before ducking back around the front of the house. If he rung the doorbell instead of using his keys, they'd either stop to let him in, or wait until they were done to do so, both of which involved not having to watch- He stopped that thought where it was.

                Sure enough it was a full three minutes, forty-two seconds before the door was opened by a goofy looking Scot who grinned at him as if he'd just won the fucking lottery, "Hope we didn't keep you waiting?"

                "Oh no!" Wales replied, pulling himself to his feet, "Wouldn't want to interrupt your important 'trade negotiations' or whatever the fuck the code is for fucking these days."

                Scotland snorted out a laugh, "We appreciate your co-operation, it's not like you gave us any warning."

                Wales frowned, crossing his arms over his chest, "I wouldn't need to if you weren't constantly shoving your pricks in each other."

                "We're not actually," Scotland replied nonchalantly, "You just keep getting lucky."

                "'Lucky' isn't exactly the word I'd use."

                "You would if you'd ever fucked him. Now," Wales grimaced as Scotland put a had around his shoulder and pulled him into the house, "Have some tea and un-twist your knickers. You're too easy to wind up."

                "What happened to winding up England?"

                Scotland sighed melodramatically, "Ah, yes, the memories... Unfortunately, the little bugger now holds my sex life in his hands. That's not a chance I'm willing to take, I'm afraid."

                Wales sighed dejectedly as they entered the kitchen where a rather sexed-up looking England was staring intently at the slowly boiling kettle. "We need a new kettle."

                "Then buy a new kettle."

                England sighed and turned around, nodding briefly to Wales in greeting before turning his attention back to Scotland, "The last time I bought a kettle it was shit and you lost the receipt so I couldn't return it." He gestured to the kettle behind him.

                "Yeah, yeah, keep bringing that up, would you? Would you rather _I_ be the one to go out and buy the kettle?"

                "Well, since you're offering." He said, before raising an eyebrow, "And I just had your dick in my mouth, so I hardly think there's room for argument here."

                Wales grimaced a little, but the two of them didn't seem to notice.

                Scotland rolled his eyes, "You were hardly complaining about it at the time, but, yes, okay, when I go shopping tomorrow I'll buy a new bloody kettle. Happy?"

                "Very, thank you." He turned his attention to Wales, "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

                "Your boss wanted a meeting."

                England raised an eyebrow, "And you thought you'd take advantage of my hospitality without notice?"

                Wales rolled his eyes, "What else is new, if you're going to whinge at me every time I do this we're gonna waste a hell of a lot of time."

                England let a smile twitch his lips, "Then I'm sure you won't try and complain about Scotland and myself, hm?"

                Wales frowned. So this was how it was going to be?

                _Brilliant..._


	9. The Yellow One And The Orange One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scone is a reasonable cat, Mouser is a strain to his patience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone on Fanfiction suggested a Nekotalia drabble, and I thought why not? Cats are great. 
> 
> IDK honestly, cats man, how do you write cats? My answer: make them assholes. I'm sorry. Also I had no idea what to name them, so I called them Scone and Mouser 'cause I'm uncreative...
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                Now, Scone was a reasonable cat, and such conducted himself in a reasonable manner, but if he was kicked off the couch one more time by those absolute buffoons he was going to pee on them in their sleep.

                He arched his back dramatically as he walked away as haughtily as possible, as the yellow one, who he had named _Food_ , said something to the orange one, who he had named _Loud_ , making the two of them look at him and giggle. It was degrading. He was a cat of good breeding! He didn't deserve such treatment!

                "I'll have you know, I have every right to sharpen my claws there later," Scone said to them, earning only an annoying pat on the head, and some more noises which he couldn't make head nor tail of, from Loud. The only noise he could even decipher a little was "Mouser" but he sure as hell wasn't going to-

                "Hey Scone!"

                _Oh perfect, as if the day couldn't get any worse._

                "What are you doing here Mouser?"

                He turned to the other, orange-er, Scottish fold who was trotting up to him happily, a sunny aura about him, "Nice brought me here to see you," he said, nuzzling up to Scone and making him groan and push him away, "I think Bossy wanted you to make a friend."

                "I don't need a friend, and if I do decide to make one, it surely will not be you."

                Mouser's eyes widened comically wide, making a sarcastic puppy-dog (a stupid expression, in Scone's humble opinion, Puppies weren't cute, they were loud and annoying, and they never grew out of it either. Then again, that is exactly the words he would use to describe the other cat, so he supposed the expression had a little merit) face, "Aw, you don't mean that?"

                Scone huffed, "I most certainly do."

                Mouser nuzzled him again, "Nah you don't!"

                Scone struggled to get away, but it seemed the Mouser had somehow managed to tip him over and get on top of him so there was no way to escape, "Get off me!"

                "No!"

                "Mouser, get off me!"

                Mouser settled down heavily, making Scone wheeze, "I don't want to, you're comfortable."

                Scone huffed out irritably, gazing helplessly at the two humans who were watching them amusedly, "Well help me!"

                The two of them just laughed, exchanging some noises before doing that weird thing that humans do and pushing their faces together. Scone abruptly came to the realization that neither Food nor Loud were going to be of any help to him, and he was stuck underneath Mouser until one of them mentioned something that piqued the other cat's interest and he was freed from his current position.

                Scone huffed loudly, "I hate you."

                "I know. It's a good thing you're pretty, or Id' have given up on you long ago."

                "I will scratch your eye out of you say another word."

                "Word."

                "For the love of-!"

~~~~

                England and Scotland watched as Scone and Mouser interacted with mild amusement. "God, your cat is an aloof tight-arse," Laughed Scotland as Scone wiggled out from under Mouser and hissed at him.

                "And yours is a smug little prick," England replied, as Mouser continually toyed with Scone until the other cat meowed angrily and fled the room, the other cat trotting smugly after him.

                "They say pets take after their owners."

                England considered that for a moment, before a scowl spread over his face, "Hey, who are you calling an aloof tight-arse?"

                Scotland just laughed and dodged England's swat at his head, fleeing after the two cats, "I love you~!"

                "Shove it up your arse Scotland!"


	10. Damn, You've Got It Bad...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One thing England had learned about Scotland since they'd admitted their feelings for each other in a cheesy and dramatic way was that Scotland tended to be cheesy and dramatic when it came to romance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two Drabbles today because I haven't posted any in a few days. 
> 
> Also, if you still don't know how Scotty admitted his feelings then read my story 'Downpour' (http://archiveofourown.org/works/3904423)
> 
> Enjoy ;)

One thing England had learned about Scotland since they'd admitted their feelings for each other in a cheesy and dramatic way was that Scotland tended to be cheesy and dramatic when it came to romance. Don't get him wrong, it was sweet, entirely too endearing to be honest, but it was still cheesy and dramatic, and under principle alone he was required to roll his eyes at it. Like when...

                England idly mentioned that they'd never had a _real_ date Scotland as good as dragged him out of the door, and to the local park. England rolled his eyes, but joined Scotland on the abandoned swings, and laid with him in the middle of the adjacent field until the sun went in and the rain came out, and they hid in a chip shop until it passed, a fancy one with booths, huddled on one side of one, idly eating the overpriced fried potatoes.

                Or when...

                They went to the cinema a few days later, he yawned obviously, wrapping England in his arm and tugging him close. England rolled his eyes, but they watched the film cuddled close and paying more attention to playing with each other's fingers and kissing as discreetly as possible than the movie itself.

                Or when...

                They arranged to have a romantic night in, simply because Scotland happened to notice they were nearing their _we've-been-dating-long-enough-to-deserve-an-anniversary-right?_ anniversary, Scotland wouldn't let him into the kitchen until he was done cooking, and when he was, the table was decked out with candles and a rose that England was sure was picked from his garden, and Scotland lead him to the table with a smug air about him. England rolled his eyes, but he had the ghost of a smile on his face as Scotland placed food in front of him (which was the perfect mixture of complex-looking and actually simple, to impress while still being cook-able).

                England wasn't sure when they'd stopped being bickering idiots and started being love-sick idiots, but he wasn't sure he could complain about it at all. After all, there were worse things to be, and he was certain they'd  grow out of it eventually-

                "Hey England,"

                England looked up at the source of the noise, humming out a questioning note.

                "Dude, what's up with you? You've been zoning out the whole meeting."

                England cleared his throat, smiling awkwardly at America, "I'm fine my boy, just some things on my mind is all."

                "What kinda things?"

                "Things that don't concern you."

                "Was it Scotland?"

                England seriously considered punching that idiot right in his smug ' _I can see right through you_ ' face, but stopped himself if only because if he hit America's glasses he didn't want to be picking glass out of his knuckles for hours.

                "It was totally Scotland, damn you've got it bad!"

                "Will you shut up, we haven't actually gone public yet!" England hissed at him, prodding him in the forehead.

                America rolled his eyes, "Taboo-Shmaboo, no one cares."

                "Easy for you to say when you're fucking your brother too," England grumbled, resting his head in his hands.

                "Not exclusively," America replied haughtily, "I'm not a loser like you."

                "Well excuse me for enjoying monogamy."

                "You're just old fashioned."

                "I'm-" He stopped himself abruptly before he finished that sentence, because if America _ever_ heard him say the phrase _'I'm in love'_ he was sure life would quickly become a chore.

                "Whatever, you douchebag, you coming for lunch or not?"

                England pursed his lips for a moment, considering whether to react to the insult, before sighing resignedly, "Yes, let's go."


	11. England Dislikes Spiders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What the fuck kind of bloody hellspawn is that?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Lovely Kestrealbird on Fanfiction wanted New Zealand, so I wrote New Zealand (Kinda). Honestly this has been a plot bunny in my head for a while (ever since I saw a tumblr post about it ages ago) and this kinda sorta gave me the chance to write it. I love Artie being a baby about spiders, it brings glee to my tiny, shriveled heart! (HC that he made Oz and Zea visit him a lot rather than the other way around because he's terrified of the wildlife)
> 
> Anyway! Ignore me!
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

"Holy fucking Jesus' bollocks!"

                That shout was followed by a loud crash and the sound of two lots of uproarious laughter. 

                "What the fuck kind of bloody hellspawn _is_ that?"

                Everyone looked over in the general direction of the commotion, and several other people screeched with the same enthusiasm as the Englishman when they saw the huge eight-legged creature sitting happily on the table in front of where England had been sitting a few moments prior.

                "AUSTRALIA!"

                "Yeah, England? What seems to be the problem there, mate?" Australia hardly managed to get his reply out through his laughter.

                England grit his teeth, "The problem, _mate_ , is that there is one of your horrific-"

                Australia leaned over the desk, a mischievous glint in his eye, making England abruptly _shut up_ and crawl further back against the wall of the meeting room. England's eye widened a little as the other nation reached out a hand toward the creature, "Australia, stop! New Zealand! Do something!"

                New Zealand raised an eyebrow at the Brit, a tiny smile coming to his lips, "Well what do you want me to do? Stop him? I think you know as well as I do that he does what he wants."

                Australia grinned, leaning forward just a little more and touching a hand gently to the spider's abdomen. The spider jolted forward, launching itself off the table and directly at England who made the least manly noise conceivable by human consciousness and scurried as fast as he could to the furthest point from the spider that he could manage.

                By this point, anyone who wasn't near the spider was laughing heartily, and anyone who _was_ near it had gone the path of England and backed off from it hastily, albeit in a more dignified manner.

                While Australia launched himself over the table to pick up the spider from the floor, New Zealand wandered over to where England was pressed firmly against a wall, glaring daggers at Australia who now had the spider scurrying up his arm, giggling as it tickled at his neck. "Alright there Mum?" he asked casually, making England turn his glare on him.

                "You're not off the hook either young man!" England growled, "And I'm not your mother!"

                New Zealand did his best not to smile, "You're not? I'd say you screamed like you were."

                He and Australia had to flee pretty quickly after that.

~~~~

                Scotland raised an eyebrow at England, as the two of them stood on the balcony above the one that lead to Australia and New Zealand's shared one, "You called me all the way out here for _this_?"

                England grinned widely, in a completely disconcerting way, "Of course. None of the others would help me, so you were the obvious choice."

                "And you couldn't have done this alone because...?"

                England grabbed him by the shoulders, "I need help, and I'll be damned if I have to laugh at them by myself just because you didn't want to dump freezing water of two of my former colonies."

                Scotland laughed softly, "Hey, I'm all for dumping freezing water on two of your former colonies, it's not like they don't deserve it,"

                England raised an eyebrow, "But?"

                "I just thought there would be a better way to do this more... publicly."

                England pursed his lips, "I'm listening..."

~~~~

                England walked up to the front of the room with his nose proudly in the air despite the snickers he heard from those who were still laughing about yesterday's meeting. He stood at the front, straightened his papers, and looked up with what could be a cool, business-line expression to anyone who didn't know that it was, in actual fact, the silent murder face, "I would like to start off today's meeting by apologizing for my behaviour yesterday, after all it is clear to me that Australia and New Zealand were simply trying to rid me of the spider, which just _happened_ to be native to one, if not all, of said Nations, and which had _somehow_ found its way onto my desk in the middle of a meeting." He smiled toothily at the pair, who's eyes widened, fixed on the man in front of them, at the podium, and not the one sneaking up behind them, "And since I found myself in such close quarters with part of their lands, I thought it only fair that they get to experience something similar."

                As soon as the words left England's mouth Scotland tipped the bucket he'd been holding, dumping a good few gallons of ice water over their heads in one huge splash. The two of them howled out in surprise, Australia's surprised yelp reaching a pitch which rivalled England's the day before, and New Zealand's sounding so much like a strangled sheep that it was hard _not_ to burst into laughter.

                "Say hello to the lake district laddies!" Scotland guffawed, "Nessie sends her regards!"

                "Holy shit biscuits, that's fuckin' cold!" Australia gasped, looking like a drowned rat as he stood there, wiping his sopping hair from his eyes.

                "Really, Oz?" New Zealand barked, "I hadn't noticed."

                England had perhaps the biggest, smuggest, smile on his face, as he leant lazily on the front podium, "How do you like your present from Britain, boys?" he asked, failing miserably at not laughing as the two of them glared daggers at him.

                After a moment though, New Zealand started laughing, bending himself over and guffawing, Australia following not long after, and soon the entire room was in absolute uproar.

                During the ruckus Scotland trotted over to England and bent in to whisper in his ear, "Now, don't you think this revenge was much better?"

                England narrowed his eyes at him, but his grin remained, "I concede that yes, this was better, and tonight I will show you how much I appreciated your assistance, but right now I have a meeting to bring to order, and you have two nations to dry up."

                Scotland snorted, "Alright, I'll hold you to that," he turned around and began walking toward the door, "Come on you two wet sops, come with me to get dry, England's got summarized notes for you."

                England sighed, watching the three of them leave for a moment before turning his attention to the impossible task of bringing these excited nations to order... It was going to be a long day, but it was _so_ worth it.


	12. What Were You Thinking?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scotland was livid.
> 
> Absolutely FUCKING furious!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is just me writing angst, and is really an excuse for me to write about my headcanon for adrenaline junkie England. This headcanon breaks my heart, it really does, but I suppose all the best ones do. It's like this coupled with emotionally constipated England is a recipe for disaster, and I think that's why I write so much fluff... I gotta compensate for the shit these guys do in my head...
> 
> Why do my babies do this to themselves? Why do I do this to my babies? 
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                Scotland was livid.

                Absolutely **_FUCKING_** furious!

                "How dare you!" He yelled, as loud as his booming voice could go, forcing Wales to rush over to him, and hold him firmly in his place near the now closed door.

                England flinched but didn't reply, and Scotland didn't try to fight himself from Wales' grip, so they just stood there in absolute silence. The room was awful, Scotland decided as he waited through the silence, white and clinical, and exactly what a hospital _should_ look like, but Scotland hated it nonetheless. He probably would have hated it less if it was temporarily belonging to someone other than England,  but as it stood, he couldn't find anything to like about it.

                After a while, he pushed himself back and out of Wales' hold, to lean against the wall with a low growl.

                "We've been searching for you for almost an entire _fucking_ week, and now you show up, washed up on the side of the Thames! I can't believe you would-"

                "I always liked drowning the least."

                England's interruption made all three of the room's other inhabitants snap their heads up toward him, their eyes wide at hearing him speak for the first time since he'd woken up.

                "I died when I hit the water, but then I kept reviving and drowning."

                Nobody spoke, too intent on hearing what he had to say.

                "I drowned thirteen times. I stopped struggling after the sixth."

                England sucked in a hard breath through his nose, staring blankly at the ground beside his bed, and seeming to pointedly avoid eye contact with any of his siblings.

                "I envy the poor sods who only have to do it once."

                Scotland grit his teeth, angry tears coming to his eyes. "If you hate drowning so much why did you throw yourself into a river?" he said, trying his best to sound calm, but sounding just about the opposite.

                England sighed, his fingers clenching and unclenching in the sheets that had bunched up around his middle, curling further up into a foetal position, "It's poetic, isn't it?" he laughed darkly, "I  died fourteen times in the lifeblood of my capital, all because I couldn't remember what dying felt like."

                "I don't care if it's bloody poetic!" Northern Ireland as good as roared, standing up from the chair she'd been occupying, her freckled face going cherry red in anger, "I don't care about any of the fucking stupid shite you can come up with to explain yourself! I, and I'm sure I can speak for all of us here, don't want you going bloody thrill-seeking again! Every time it happens you take to too far! You kill or get killed, and I don't want you to go back down that spiral again!" She had tears in her eyes, but she seemed determined to keep them from falling, "It wouldn't be so bad if it were just you getting hurt, but every time you do this it affects _us_ too, and-" she choked, rubbing at her eyes and hiccupping out a sob, it seemed her tirade was over.

                Wales stood up to take her place, "You're a selfish bastard, you know that?" he said calmly, his lip curling in disgust, "You do all this to yourself, kill yourself a thousand times over and you don't even spare a thought that there's someone else in the world who might be affected, be it emotionally or otherwise." He shook his head, "England, you're our brother, to one of us, you're even more than that. I know that you get it in your head that you're alone, that nobody will miss you if you throw yourself in the Thames and float there for a week, but the three of us have been worried sick! Scotland hasn't slept in almost two days! We almost thought you weren't going to wake up at all!" he swallowed, taking a deep breath, "England, look at me."

                England let out a shuddering breath, but his eyes remained fixed on the floor.

                "I said _look at me_!"

                His eyes flicked up to look at Wales'. Green meeting blue, blank meeting angry.

                "Don't you dare do this again," he began, his lip curling again, "You come to any one of us and you tell us what's wrong so we don't have to do all this another time around."

                England didn't make any indication that he'd understood or not, he just continued to stare blankly at his brother.

                Scotland stood up and strode over to him, his back straight, his shoulders tense, and knelt down beside the bed, taking England's face in his hands, and forcing the blank eyes to focus on him, "England, don't you ever scare us like this again," he growled, "You can't do this to yourself again, it's been less than a century since you did it last time! More importantly," he took a deep breath, touching their foreheads together, "I'm not pretending to hate you anymore, so I'm allowed to really hate you this time, and that's the last thing I want."

                England's eyes were still unfocused, but one of his hands travelled up and gripped onto Scotland's, twisting their fingers together haphazardly and awkwardly leaning into Scotland's touch.

                Scotland brushed their entwined fingers over England's cheek, "I hate seeing you die."

                His voice was so low that only England would have been able to hear it, and hear it he did, because a short sob passed through his lips, "I'm so sorry," he choked, squeezing his eyes shut and Scotland's hand until his fingertips went blue, "Oh god I'm so sorry."

                Scotland wrapped him in his arms, tucking his head into England's neck as England did the same, and smelling the deep and pungent smell of the Thames on his skin, "Shh," he soothed, as he felt England gasp out a sob into his hair, "Shh, You're okay now, that's all that matters."

                "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." England muttered repeatedly, gripping a little tighter with every repetition.

                "You bloody better be," Scotland said, a soft, relieved smile turning up his lips. He planted a soft kiss against England's temple, stroking the filthy hair from his forehead, "I don't know if my old heart could take another round of this."

                England let out a choked laugh, "How much trouble am I in?"

                "From me or your boss?"

                "Both."

                "Me, I'm a softy, your boss, not so much."

                "I- shit. Fuck I'm an idiot," England groaned.       

                Scotland nodded with a short laugh of his own, "Completely. It's good to see you're coming back to your senses."

                England pulled himself out of the hug, wiping his eyes and pressing his and Scotland's foreheads together again, "I'm so sorry," he swallowed, sniffing, "I- I don't know-"

                "You like the thrill," Wales interrupted, making the two of them look toward him, "You were always at your happiest when you were an inch from some kind of violent death."

                "And then when you can't get an adrenaline high you go for something else," Northern Ireland grumbled, "Remember the sixties? You overdosed twice a week."

                "You're a junkie," Wales added with a firm, stiff smile, "What for, it doesn't matter. A life of politics was never going to be right for you, but that doesn't mean throwing yourself off of bridges is the best way to do things."

                Scotland squeezed England's hand gently, "Why don't you go and work with the military for a while?" he suggested, "Take a break from politics. The three of us can handle it."

                England slumped back down onto the bed, nodding solemnly and closing his eyes, "Okay."

                Scotland kissed his forehead one more time before standing, "Are you hungry? You've had nothing but river water for a week."

                England shook his head, "I'm just tired."

                Scotland's mouth formed a thin line, a frown creasing his features, "Alright, go to sleep, just promise you'll wake up."

                England's mouth twitched into a smile, "I promise."

                Scotland turned to the other two, "He looks like he's going to be out for a while, do you want to eat, there's a restaurant downstairs."

                The two nodded with matching sighs and followed him from the room. Behind them, England frowned and curled up tighter.


	13. Hello, I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK with this one tbh... It's a direct follow up to the last one, where England is hanging around with his military. I dunno, I just kinda like it when the countries interact with their citizens, sorry it's not very ScotEng-y, I even left the ending deliberately open... IDK I'm sorry, I promise regular programming will resume shortly.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                If there was only one place on earth which a country could feel completely, one hundred percent at home, it was in the company of their military. Or at least, in England's humble opinion. The feeling of all the people who are fighting in your name, for your sake, is unlike anything else, it just made one feel completely... _loved_.

                England laid in the drizzle, in one of his military bases, on the roof of a jeep, with the grunts, groans, and ruthless shouting that went with the training of new recruits as his ambient noise. He smiled a little as the first recruit finished the course they were running, maintaining his composure for long enough to put on a show, but collapsing onto the ground as soon as the instructor turned his back to check on the other recruits.

                England rolled gracelessly off of the jeep, landing on his feet but stumbling a little as he did, he was still a little out of it from his stunt a few days ago. He shook his head to clear it of the fluff which had built up there, wandering over to join the recruit on the floor.

                He held out a hip flask to the boy, can't have been much older than eighteen, who eyed him suspiciously for a moment. "Is this some sort of test, sir?" he asked, frowning a little.

                England chuckled, shaking his head, "Not at all, you finished first, and I can only lie on that Jeep for so long. Have some whiskey."

                The boy took the flask with caution, taking a calculated sip, "Thanks..."

                England rolled his eyes, "I shouldn't be drinking anyway, one of my siblings would rip my bollocks off if they knew I was."

                "You cold turkey then?"

                England made a noncommittal gesture, "Not for alcohol, but the point still stands."

                "Who are you?" The boy asked curiously, "I mean you showed up yesterday, and all the sergeant said that you were important and to be treated with respect, but he didn't say what you did exactly."

                England looked down at the damp ground, "Me? I'm the highest up, my boy. Don't fool yourself into thinking that means I have any power though."

                The boy frowned in confusion, "You mean the PM, 'cause-"

                England chuckled again, "No, no, I'm not the prime minister, nor am I anything like it, unfortunately for you my real status is irritatingly classified."

                "So you can't tell me?"

                England smirked a little, "Sharp, aren't you?"

                The boy frowned, "Alright smart arse," he grumbled through a slightly amused smile, "If you can't tell me who you are, can you tell me why you're here?"

                England thought on that for a moment, "I'm rather the selfish prat and threw myself off a bridge," he said after a short time, pursing his lips and frowning at the soft ground, "Wouldn't recommend it, it's rather hard to remove the smell of the Thames once it's stuck."

                The boy didn't reply, seeming to think about what England had said before deigning to reply, "Well, I'm glad you didn't kick it," he said, "If you'd gone the way of my sister then I can't say your siblings would have forgiven you."

                "I wouldn't expect them to," England replied, turning his attention to picking at a lose string in his trousers, "Sometimes it's hard to think about one's siblings when all you think about is yourself. I'm getting better at that, thinking of others that is, not that it stopped me from keeping them from a week's worth of sleep."

                "They don't mind missing that sleep," the boy said, pointedly not meeting England's eyes when he glanced up to catch the boy's, "Not so long as you woke up in the end."

                England smiled a little, and was about to reply when the voice of the drill instructor cut over them and the boy stood. He saluted as he left, with a sad kind of smile on his face. England frowned for a moment, staring blankly at where the boy had left, not moving from where he sat even as people started to move around him.

                He opened his phone, flicked through his contacts and pressed call.

                "Hello?"

                "Hello, I love you."


	14. Fighting With Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sword fighting is more than just fighting with swords... apparently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone from Fanfiction wanted swordfighting... I mean they wanted 'fun' swordfighting, I'm not sure that this constitutes as 'fun' but hey! You can't claim that the boys aren't having at least a little fun. I'll probably write another, more platonic one tomorrow or the day after, with North and Wales and maybe Ireland and France or something... IDK we'll see I guess.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                "Get-" Crash "-fucking-" Clang "-down!"

                England's blade swung past Scotland's shoulder, grazing the skin, but not enough to draw blood. They both held expressions of determination on their faces, their breathing coming in exhausted bursts, their faces flushed with exertion, but neither were going to give in until the other made a mistake.

                "Not-" Clang "-fucking-" Crash "-likely!"

                England rolled away from Scotland's blade, jumping to his feet but swinging for the other's ankles. Scotland jumped, landing solidly on England's blade, swinging his own down at England, who once again rolled out of the way and to his feet.

                He stood a few metres away, his breathing heavy and no weapon in his hand, "Well, darling, this hardly seems fair, now does it?" He asked, trying his best to make his breath sound smooth, as if he wasn't waning in energy.

                Scotland just smirked, stepping off of England's sword and picking it up with his other hand, "I don't know what you're talking about? I mean you practically _gave_ it to me."

                England grit his teeth, his eyes roving a little desperately over Scotland's person.

                _There's a weakness in his defence, there's always a weakness, there must be, find it, find it, find it!_

                "Worried, honey?"

                England dropped his brows in a scowl, licking his sweaty upper lip, "Why would I be?" he asked, "It's not as if you could beat me, even with two swords."

                Scotland scowled.

                _There it is._

                England grinned.

                Scotland charged forward, slicing down with  his left hand, letting England dodge to the right and grab the arm, yanking hard on his shoulder to flip the man onto his back. In one swift move, he straddled Scotland's chest, snatched a sword from his loosened grip and pressed it to his neck.

                He let his mouth twist into a wide smile, leaning down so their noses touched, pressing down on the sword, "Told you."

                Scotland smirked, and England raised an eyebrow as the tip of the other sword pressed into his stomach, "I think you forgot something."

                England shook his head, laughing before purring out, "It would be no fun if I didn't give you a fighting chance, now would it?"

                "More like you like the idea of me still being able to kill you, but knowing I won't," Scotland replied, ignoring the blade digging into his neck as he leant his head up so their lips were a hair's breadth from touching, his eyes holding a self-satisfied smirk.

                England hummed out a note in the affirmative, "Who told you?"

                "Would you believe me if I said I worked it out all by myself?"

                England pursed his lips before smiling widely again, "I suppose I have to give you a little credit," he let out a shaky breath, "Because if you keep pressing that harder I'll have to-" he stopped as Scotland added significant pressure to the sword. He was sure it had pierced skin, but was finding himself unable to care as England let out a shuddering moan, his eyes shutting and his head falling further forward so their lips were almost fully touching. Still, neither of them acted on it. It wasn't time yet.

                "Have to what?" Scotland asked, his voice trying to sound smug, but just coming out as breathy and aroused.

                England opened his eyes, and the look in his eyes made Scotland's body heat up in anticipation. He pressed forward, the blade in his neck drawing blood, and Scotland's head forced back against the floor. He pressed a short, _too short_ , peck to his lips, "Why," he purred, "Fuck you into the ground in the middle of this field, of course."

                Scotland smiled, running a tongue over his teeth which brushed lightly over England's lips, "Well, what's stopping you?"

                England returned the smile, kissing just beside his lips, tauntingly close and not even slightly enough to satisfy. Scotland growled out an annoyed sound, making England laugh quietly, leaning in to kiss him properly.

                Somewhere in the middle of their kissing, between gasps and growls, they dropped their swords, grabbing at each other with a mindless desire, their fingers pressing against the wounds they'd caused and causing each other to moan out more. When they finally broke for air England let his grin return, chuckling a little before saying;

                "Absolutely nothing."


	15. Frog Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Northern Ireland tries to learn how to use a sword, but the boys get sidetracked along the way...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT, this one is long enough to be a stand alone one-shot... I honestly did not mean for it to be this long, and I have no idea if it's even that great 'cause allergies hit me hard today and my brain is literal cotton fluff... Oh well! I'm sure it'll be fine!
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                "Legs apart!"

                "What? Do you want me to do the fuckin' splits?"

                "Eyes on Alistair! Don't look at me!"

                "I'd be able to concentrate better if you weren't being such a dick about it!"

                "If you were listening to me I wouldn't have to be!"

                Northern Ireland growled, letting her sword drop and turning a pointed scowl on her older brother who regarded her dryly, his arms crossed over his chest, "England, sweetie, please try to understand that not _all_ of us had to live in a time when your weird fetishes were a part of everyday life!"

                England huffed out an irritated breath through his nose as their companions burst out into laughter, "Even America handled a sword more effectively than you are right now, and he was a toddler when I taught him."

                She growled out again, "You know what! If you're so good, then fight me!"

                England raised an eyebrow, and the laughter stopped, "Hey, lass, I really don't think that's such a great idea," Scotland said, "I mean he-"

                "No, no Scotland, if she wants to fight me then so be it," England said, holding his hand out for his sword, "Perhaps she might even pick up some much needed _technique_."

                "England," France interrupted sternly, "She isn't ready for a real fight, we both know that."

                England spun his sword like a baton absentmindedly, staring at it with a deliberate disinterest, "If you're so worried, why don't you take her place?"

                A subtle but impossible to miss grin spread over England's face, as France stepped forward, a matching smile on his own face. He held out his hand to Northern Ireland, who handed her sword over with little resistance, curiosity outweighing pride in this particular instance.

                France grimaced as he weighed the sword in his hand, "This sword is off balance," he said distastefully.

                "Good," England said coolly, "Now you have an excuse to spew when I impale you."

                "And you have no excuse not to win," France replied in the same way, "It would be rather embarrassing for you if you lost now, wouldn't it?"

                England frowned deeply at France, as they both took their swords in their hands, holding them out in front of them, bodies in ready position.

                Quickly, and before they got going, Ireland trotted over to England and whispered something in his ear which made him chuckle a little, "Seventy and you've got a deal."

                Ireland nodded, a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he held out a hand to shake, "Pleasure doing business with you."

                "Wow, that must be the first time England's ever going to hear _that_ ," France said airily, breathing out a laugh, "Pleasure is an overstatement, no?"

                "I don't remember you saying that in the twenties," England snapped, before his demeanour softened to a not all that pleasant sneer,  "I seem to recall you had an entirely different outlook."

                France snorted, "You really must be getting old, England, your memory is worse by the day!"

                "Will you two just fight already?" Northern Ireland groused, tapping her foot and making Scotland and Ireland chuckle.

                Matching grins spread over the pair's faces, "With pleasure."

                And then they swung.

                Their fight lasted longer than any of them were expecting, France undoubtedly with the lower hand but managing to hold his own with some difficulty. They fought with a recklessness that Northern Ireland had never seen either of the two display, disregarding whatever nicks and scratches that they may have received in favour of landing a hit on the other.

                It wasn't until they were both flushed red with exhaustion, their breathing coming in short and desperate bursts that the fight came to a close. England took a step back, not noticing the rock that stuck up from the ground and catching his heel, and lost his balance, tumbling back onto the muddy ground underneath them. Before he could even try getting up a sword dug into the ground by his shoulder, a foot coming to rest on his chest.

                Northern Ireland went to say something, but was stopped by Ireland's hand on her shoulder, indicting for her to watch.

                "Je gagne, Angleterre," he grinned, pressing his foot down harder and making England growl lowly, "Et tu perdes."

                "Shove it up your arse, France, I doubt it will take much to get it up there."

                France pressed down a little harder again, England's breath coming visibly harder, "I won, and don't you forget who is standing on who, England."

                England rather suddenly grinned, his hands reaching up to grab at France's ankles and yanking as hard as he could to topple France backwards. As France fell clumsily to the floor, England pulled the sword from the ground and launched himself forward, landing on top of the other and holding him down by his neck, shoving the sword into the ground in a similar way to how France just had.

                "Golden rule of duelling," he said smoothly as France glared at him, unable to speak through his compressed airways and unable to move where England's knees rested on his arms, "The fight is never over until someone is dead."

                "Are you going to kill me England?" France said, and though it was clearly meant to be scathing, it came out in short gasps.

                England pursed his lips, "I wish I could, but the paperwork would be a bugger," he said ruefully, "I don't have that kind of time, so I'll just have to settle for the next best thing."

                France raised a curious eyebrow, making England chuckle, releasing the sword's hilt, and reaching behind him. He pulled out a wand, comically large and over the top, but France was all too aware of what he could do with it, struggling under his grip.

                "I thought you didn't believe in magic, frog?"

                "I don't, but whatever you plan to do with that thing I don't like the look of it!"

                England began muttering under his breath, making France squirm even more, Scotland and Ireland trying and failing to hold in their laughter in the background. Northern Ireland just smiled amusedly, as was her usual reaction to her brothers' antics, that was, until there was a poof of smoke.

                It took a moment for it to dissipate, but when it did all four of the Island siblings burst out laughing.

                "Iiie a-iiet uuoou," came a croak from where France had previously been, a frog that was somehow managing to scowl having taken his place.

                England sat up, wiping his eyes and holding a hand out to Ireland, "Seventy Euros, pay up."

                The frog's glare turned on Ireland, who let out a snort at the look and reached into his back pocket to pull out his wallet, "Thank you," he said happily as he handed over the money, trotting over to the frog and petting it lightly on the head, "How's life down there France?" he laughed, making the frog croak something that sounded suspiciously like 'enculé', not that that phased Ireland in the slightest.

                Northern Ireland rolled her eyes, chuckling as she walked over to her brother and the frog. "Leave him be Ire," she said, swatting his hands away and picking the frog up from the ground, "England, how do we fix him?"

                The frog ribbited in an annoyingly self-satisfied way as England narrowed his eyes, and Ireland groaned, "Will you stop being responsible for a minute?"

                She smiled, but shook her head, "Wales isn't here, someone has to take the responsibility." She turned pointedly to England, "England."

                "True love's kiss is the traditional way, but since we don't have any of those a kiss from a blue-blood should do the trick," he replied slightly grudgingly, "Although I say that as if we have a royal in the vicinity."

                "What's with all the kissing?"

                England shrugged, "I didn't write the terms and conditions, I just blindly agreed to them without reading them like every other sod who agrees to anything." He seemed to get a thought all of a sudden, standing with a strangely vulnerable air covered with his usual aloof bravado and walking over to Scotland, who regarded him with scepticism. England twisted their hands together and leaned up to whisper something in his ear.

                Scotland chuckled, turning his head to rub their noses together, "You trying to say I'm your true love?"

                England blushed a little but didn't do anything else to indicate that he hadn't meant for the others to know what he was talking about, "No, I don't believe in all that bollocks, what I'm saying is that you're as close as I'm gonna get, and that's good enough, right?"

                Scotland's smile turned soft for a fleeting moment, so short that is you'd blinked you would have missed it, but it seemed the frog had seen, because it let out a long croak that was probably supposed to be a dreamy sigh which the pair pointedly ignored, "Okay then, let's give it a try."

                They walked over to Northern Ireland, holding out their hands to indicate the frog should relocate, which he did slightly grudgingly. The pair stood opposite each other, lifting the frog to between their faces.

                England grimaced as he looked at the frog, who turned to him and almost seemed to smirk, "This was a terrible idea."

                "You were the one who agreed to do this for fifty quid," Scotland said in reply, "I get absolutely nothing for this."

                "You were the one who invited the twat in the first place."

                "Let's just get it over with."

                And with that they both closed their eyes and leaned in, pressing a kiss to each side of the frog's face.

                There was a poof of smoke again and the three of them were standing with Francis in the middle, looking more than a little smug with two pairs of lips on his cheeks. The two seemed to realize it had worked and jerked away, making the two Irelands laugh as they wiped at their mouths.

                "Eugh, I should have gotten more than fifty quid for that," England grimaced, spitting onto the ground.

                "You were the one who turned me into that mucus-covered monstrosity, you're the one who has to pay the consequences," France replied haughtily, "That is something I _never_ want to repeat."

                "He's got a point," Northern Ireland said, raising a finger as if to emphasize her point.

                "And don't pretend it wasn't worth it anyway," Ireland added quickly after.

                Before England could reply he got caught up in one of Scotland's arms and a short chaste kiss. He wrinkled his nose, "You're covered in frog."

                Scotland bit his lip to hide his huge smile, dropping his voice to say something to England which made the Englishman's frown disappear, a small smile taking its place, "You _would_ buy into all that," England said, his arms moving up to wrap around Scotland's neck.

                "You mean you don't believe even a little?"

                England melted into Scotland's expression of hope, "I- uh..." he stuttered for a moment before growling, "Fucks sake Scotland," he grumbled, pressing their foreheads together, "I hate you when you do this."

                Scotland smiled, widely and smugly, "Do what?"

                England lowered his voice a little so that supposedly only Scotland could hear, but it was easy to tell what he was saying in the silence that was the meadow, "Make me fall in love with you all the bloody time," he sighed, "It's exhausting."

                Out of the corner of her eye Northern Ireland caught sight of France, his hands over his mouth to hide his huge grin and gleeful giggling, and she couldn't help but notice the smile on her own face, lifting her own hand to cover it. A glance to her other side revealed Ireland looking pointedly away, not from them she noticed, but from _something_ , a conflicted expression on his face, conflicted about what she couldn't tell, but she still took note of it.

                When she turned back to England and Scotland they were just staring into each other's eyes. That didn't really do it justice though, because staring isn't really what it was. She wondered in the back of her mind how many countries got to do this, fall in love, _really_ fall in love. Surely they couldn't let themselves fall like this, the way she saw it in their eyes right now. They had themselves to worry about they had different lives, languages, cultures, _people_ to care for, but... England and Scotland weren't like that, and she was the same, which is why, she supposed, she could understand how they could let themselves do this. And there was a part of her which almost wished to be a part of it, but another, bigger part hated to take any of what they had. She was sure she could find her own love like that... One day.

                It was England that finally broke the moment, dropping his eyes and resting his forehead against Scotland's collar, "I'm starving," he said, "We should go back to the house for a bite to eat."

                "Seconded," Ireland said, finally looking up from his shoes.

                "I can agree, but I'm going to cook it,"

                "Oh come off it you tosser!"

                "I'm not making that mistake again, England!"

                "I can cook bloody fine!"

                Northern Ireland just smiled and shook her head, heading breezily back toward the house. In her current introspective mood she completely missed the longing look Ireland cast after her, but Scotland didn't, making a mental note to talk to his brother about that particular look later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also yes, I ship North/Ireland... I couldn't help myself.
> 
> (One more thing, IDK how often I'm gonna get to upload these next couple weeks 'cause I'm going on holiday, so if there's not another one for a while then that's why. I mean I wanna get one more requested one up, and one chapter of DOTL before I go, but don't expect a lot after sort of Thursday-ish)


	16. Don't Say I Didn't Warn You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pounded rice ball creatures were acting strange... well, stranger than usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another request, this time for Mochis. Honestly this one is kinda short and shitty but I wanted to get it up sooner rather than later, because I'm gonna be super busy packing and stuff tomorrow.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                Estonia had been noticing things lately, about some of the little pounded rice-ball creatures, in that they'd been acting strangely. Well, he said lately, it had been going on for a while, but it had only just gotten to the point where it was getting weird.

                The one with the little hat and the aloof expression had been really rather fond of the one with that weird little skirt thing. This was strange only because the aloof one with the hat usually kept to itself, with the occasional moment of bonding with some of the others, but never as much as it was with the skirt-ed one as of late, not while he knew he was looking anyway. It didn't help that the skirt-ed one was usually the same.

                He frowned at the two as they cuddled up to each other, settled happily in a pillow, "What is up with you two?" he asked, not that they acknowledged him at all.

                He sighed, sitting down in front of them as they continued to snuggle. He couldn't deny it was rather cute, the two of them making happy squeaky noises occasionally, squishing into each other happily. With a rather sudden thought, he pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the two, deciding the sight was blog-worthy, because if he didn't get a few 'aw's out of it then he wasn't sure he ever would.

~~~~

                America heard a bing from his computer and hopped over it to see what it was. He smiled a little when he saw that Estonia updated his blog, and clicked to open the post. When he saw what it was he laughed out loud, great barrelling laughter, the kind his boss scolded him for.

                When he finally calmed down he looked at the picture again, of what was clearly England's mochi creature and Scotland's mochi creature cuddled up happily, practically radiating happiness. He supposed it was kinda cute, in a weird ' _that's my dad and my uncle_ ' kind of way.

                A little reluctantly he picked up his phone, deciding he should probably tell England that his and Scotland's secret was no longer safe, and that they should probably prepare for a shitstorm when the next meeting began.

~~~~

                England frowned, looking over to his vibrating phone all the way on the other side of the room.

                "Ignore it," came the heavy Scottish grumble from his lap, "I'm way too comfortable."

                England sighed, settling back on the sofa, "Fine, but if that's the PM calling to tell me that London is being attacked by Dalek's then it's on your head."

                "You're such a nerd."

                "You can recite the entire speech from Braveheart."

                "And you can mouth along with every episode of Eastenders."

                England chuckled as Scotland groaned and tucked his head into his stomach, his arms tightening around his waist, "Sleepy, dear?"

                "No," Scotland replied drowsily, "Just incredibly comfortable."

                England smiled at the thoroughly endearing sight, running a hand gently through the other's hair. They stayed like that for a while, until England was forced to get up due to the ever increasing volume of his stomach.

                On his way to the kitchen, ignoring the groaning Scotland, he picked up his phone, frowning at the three missed call from America and the one text that simply read:

_Dude, good luck at the next meeting. Don't say I didn't try to warn you._

                Well, that was ominous...


	17. Subtle (And Not So Subtle) Teasing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BroTP's! BroTP's everywhere!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many BroTP's can I fit in one part? Answer: Like two, it's really not that many...
> 
> Also, I'M BACK! I can start writing shit for my series again! This is exciting! I kinda missed writing shit with a purpose, y'know? I mean the one-shots were great, but I like these cute little drabbles. 
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                Well, the jig was up, or whatever America had said to him as soon as he arrived at the meeting that morning. The day had gone... exactly as bad as he'd expected, complete with teasing, both subtle and not so subtle, and insults, again, both subtle and not so subtle. He was fine, he'd make it through this, this wouldn't be the first time something like this had happened, so he would make it through it, just like every other time. Anyway, he was sure it wouldn't be too long before someone else did something that would take the heat off of him. In his experience, countries got bored easily, and that included himself.

                Still, that didn't mean he had to enjoy himself in the meantime.

                "Are you sure?"

                England chuckled a little, patting his friends arm, "I'll be fine, Portugal, how much shit can I get in between here and the car?"

                Portugal made a face that very clearly said, _'well, it's you'_ , but nodded, "Okay then, I'll see you soon."

                "Of course, goodbye."

                He watched Portugal leave with a sigh, before turning around to walk down the hallway to where he was parked. At least he had him for emotional support, because France and Ireland had been about the opposite of helpful in this regard. No, actually that was a lie, both of them had at least half-heartedly tried to help him at some point, but Portugal had stuck by him almost the whole day. This is exactly why Portugal was his friend and the other two were neighbouring annoyances, he cared for them sure, but they were about as useful as a paper teapot.

"England!" England flinched, gritting his teeth and deliberately didn't stop or turn around. Unfortunately he wasn't going to escape, it seemed, as an arm looped itself over his shoulders and he visibly tensed. "How are you?" cheered a slightly too happy voice, making England grimace as he looked into the Dane's face.

                "I'm just brilliant, thank you for asking, but I really-"

                "Aw, no but we have so much to talk about!"

                England let out a long breath to calm his temper, well aware that if he was in Denmark's position he would be doing worse than just subtle teasing. Strange how before this point he had been certain Denmark was incapable of subtlety.

                "Yeah, England!"

                _Speaking of being incapable of subtlety_...

                "We heard you've been keeping shit from us," said Prussia, coming up to his other side and ruffling his hair, "I thought we were friends!"

                "Well, you'll forgive me, I'm sure for wanting to-"

                "Oh, give it up England!" Denmark scoffed, "You once gave us an extremely detailed account of when you had kinky kitchen sex with Belgium. It's not like you were shy about telling us you licked whipped cream out of her-"

                "Enough!"

                Prussia rolled his eyes, "Our point is, that you can't try and pretend you're a prude now. We already know about most of the stuff you've done, hell, you done it with us... Well, not the whipped-"

                "Prussia!"

                Prussia snorted out a laugh, "Why're you so shy all of a sudden?"

                England turned up his nose, trying his best to hide the heat that was rising in his cheeks, "If I recall correctly, I had had a few drinks already when I told you almost all of those stories." He huffed, squirming out of their hold to continue walking down the hall, muttering lightly under his breath, "And Scotland's different." 

                "What was that?"

                England rolled his eyes, turning around to look at them with a pointed expression, "I said, unlike a lot of my encounters, I'm actually trying to pursue a relationship this time, so I'd appreciate it if I could keep at least a little of my life to myself."

                The two of them seemed conflicted for a moment, before Prussia spoke, "So you're actually..."

                England waited for him to finish, but a strange awkwardness seemed to have come over the usually confident nation, and since Denmark didn't seem to be willing to finish he decided he would have to do it for them, "In love with him?" he asked, and Prussia rubbed the back of his neck, "Yes, I think so."

                There was silence for a moment then Denmark cracked a grin, bounding up to England and pulling him into a tight hug, "Congrats, you Casanova!" he laughed, lifting England off the ground a little, and making the latter squeak embarrassingly in response. When he put him down a moment later, both of his companions were looking at him as if he'd just birthed an octopus, "I wondered why you hadn't been such a downer recently. I'm happy for you!"

                England laughed a little, out of relief or shock neither was sure, "You are?"

                "Yeah! Plus, it's nice to know I haven't lost my sex appeal," England raised an amused eyebrow at him, "You keep turning down a guys booty calls, and he starts to wonder if there's a reason."

                England laughed, shaking his head, "Oh no, did I hit a nerve of insecurity?"

                Denmark poked him in the centre of the forehead, "How would you feel?"

                "Truly it would be a dark day that a booty call was rejected, I'm sorry to have caused you such turmoil."

                A hand touched his shoulder, "If it means anything, I'm happy for you too."

                England smiled at Prussia, who was rather stubbornly refusing to meet his eyes, "Thank you, Prussia."

                "Wanna go out tonight?" Denmark asked, "That's what we actually came to ask you about."

                "Yeah, it's been a while, hasn't it?" Prussia added, snapping out of his mood and returning to normal.

                England nodded, "Yeah, that'd be nice."

                You can probably guess exactly what happened from there.


	18. Kiss Me. Now.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just one of those days for me, really...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK man, I had a mood and this is where the mood took me. It's like a PWP without the porn... I have other drabbles I should be writing more than I should be writing this, but oh well man, the heart wants what the heart wants. 
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                "Scotland!"

                Now, Scotland certainly wasn't one to complain when meetings with the PM were interrupted, and especially so when it was to nag at him, so it will come as no surprise that his reaction to the exclamation of his name had caused him to bolt upright.

                "Yes?"

                A rather frazzled looking England stood at the door, panting heavily, out of exhaustion or something else Scotland wasn't sure. He took a moment to look around at the other occupants of the room in deliberation before seemingly deciding on something and marching over to where Scotland was sat.

                "Kiss me. Now."

                Scotland certainly wasn't going to object.

                It wasn't a small kiss, England made sure of that. As soon as their lips touched he wrapped his arms around his neck as tight as possible, hardly allowing him to gasp in surprise over the enthusiasm. Somewhere in the middle of their kissing, England pulled him to his feet, grabbing his tie, and breaking the kiss just long enough to growl a low, "Out."

                The other occupants of the room, who were all staring dumbfounded by the scene in front of them, didn't move.

                "I said," England sighed, "Out. I'm sure whatever this is you can work it out at a later date. Right now there are more important matters to attend to. Out!"

                And with that they all scrambled rather enthusiastically out of the room.

                "What's all this about?" Scotland asked a little breathlessly as England's lips travelled up his jaw.

                "I fucked up a spell," was the mumbled response.

                "Doesn't that usually require just a little kiss?"

                England nibbled gently on the underside of his jaw, walking back a little before hopping on the table and pulling Scotland between his legs, "Are you implying you'd rather be listening to that bellend nag at you about budgeting?"

                Scotland chuckled, feeling his tie disappear, "No, bu-"

                "Good," he smiled, leaning forward to bite lightly at Scotland's nose, "Because I nation hopped here for this, so I'm getting more than a ' _little kiss_ ', thank you very much."

                "Oh honey, you don't need to thank me, I haven't done anything yet."

                England smirked darkly, leaning back on his elbows and spreading his legs wider, "Let's rectify that, shall we?"

                Scotland held back his laugh by biting his lip, "Right away."

~~~~

                "Are you going to outright tell the Prime Minister we had sex on this desk, or are you just going to let him imagine?"

                England breathed out a slightly breathless laugh, his naked chest rising and falling quickly with the action, "How would you suggest I do that?"

                Scotland rolled onto his side, draping an arm over England and nuzzling his face into his side, "Hey boss, don't put your drink there, that's where my pretty little arse was when my brother was fucking me stupid."

                England chuckled, turning to seal their lips together in a short kiss, "I'm still smarter than you at any rate."

                Scotland returned the kiss, breathing out a laugh of his own, "The only reason we're here is because you couldn't do magic without fucking it up. What spell were you-"

                "An aphrodisiac," England replied, cutting of Scotland's question, "It wasn't done, which is why I was as sane as I was, but word to the wise, don't spill them on yourself no matter the stage of completion."

                Scotland snorted, "So you didn't need a kiss at all?"

                England frowned, rolling over so he was straddling his waist, his hands running up his shoulders and neck and into his hair. "Of course I needed it," he said, leaning down to pepper kisses over his collar, "Wanking myself off at home wouldn't have been half as fun."

                Scotland chuckled a little, "I can't argue with that."

                England leaned up to press their lips together again, letting it linger through his slightly smug smile.

                "Can I ask _why_ you were making an aphrodisiac, though?"

                England smirked, "Isn't it obvious pet?"

                "I was hoping you'd say it out loud so I had an excuse to fuck you twice on the insufferable ballbag's table."

                England bit his lip in amusement, "Well then," he said, sitting up, "I was very much hoping that you wouldn't oppose to its use one day, or night, or all the way through to the next morning?"

                Scotland flipped them rather suddenly making England let out a surprised giggle which turned his face bright red, all hints of any form of composure lost. Scotland laughed, leaning down and pressing feather light kisses to England's neck, while his fingers traced teasingly over his sides and thighs, only making him laugh more as England squirmed and struggled to keep his own laughter contained. "Stop being so cute," Scotland laughed, "I'll feel bad about fucking you."

                England scrunched up his nose distastefully and poked him in the ribs, "Fuck you."

                Scotland grinned.

                England's eyes grew wide, "No! Don't you dare say it!"

                His grin grew wider.

                "I swear I will walk out of here if you do."

                Scotland pouted, "Aw, you don't mean that."

                England found himself laughing at Scotland's expression, struggling to keep himself serious, "I do! I-"

                He was cut off by a very wet raspberry being blown into his stomach.

                "Scotland!"

                It took a while for them to stop giggling like teenagers, but they eventually did get around to having that second round. At the next meeting with the PM England didn't mention anything about his pretty little arse, nor did he mention anything about his brother fucking him stupid, but that didn't stop Scotland from subtly repositioning the PM's glass of water onto the exact spot where England remembered moaning like a bitch in heat.

                The fact that they had a quickie in a small room down the hall was unrelated, of course. Or, at the very least, that's what he told an extremely sceptical Scotland.


	19. Stuck in a Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A return of Nekotalia because reasons, that's why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever have one of those days? Well I had one of those days and now you have cat romance... so yeah... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

"England! Your cat is stuck up the tree!"

                "What do you mean he's- oh shit, not again."

                "Exactly. You're getting him this time."

                "Fine. Where's the ladder?"

~~~~

                "Scone? Why won't you come down from the tree?"

                Scone found himself bristling at the other cat's question. Mostly because if he were to admit the real reason he was absolutely sure he'd never hear the end of it, and also because he was sure that Mouser knew _very well_ why he wouldn't come down from the tree, but just wanted to be an arse about it.

                "Go away Mouser! I happen to like it up here!" he called back, digging his claws just a little more into the branch he was currently latched to.

                There was silence from below him for a while, and Scone found himself believing for a moment that Mouser actually _had_ left him alone. But then he felt something nuzzling gently into his back, and turned his head to see the other cat had climbed the tree to join him on the branch.

                "What're you-"

                "You don't have to be ashamed, a lot of cats are afraid of heights," Mouser interrupted, purring a little as he continued the (soothing, though Scone hated to admit it) nuzzling into his back.

                Scone found himself loosening the grip he held on the branch despite himself, "Why did you come up here? Aren't you..."

                "Scared?" Mouser asked, with just a hint of smugness which made Scone want to claw his eyes out... slowly. The other Cat just laid his head down on Scone's behind, seemingly making himself comfortable, "No, I have to save you, I can't be scared, can I?"

                Scone huffed irritably, "You're insufferable."

                Mouser made a low noise in his throat, "That's what your human thought of my human, but now look at them."

                "Don't compare us to our humans," Scone said, his voice becoming a little small, feeling the tingle of embarrassment crawl up his spine.

                Mouser made a confused noise, "Why not?"

                "Because we aren't _like_ our humans," Scone replied.

                "We're not?" Mouser asked in confusion, "But I want to be like our humans. Our humans spend time together and cuddle together and sleep together. Why can't we be like our humans?"

                Scone clawed anxiously at the branch, "We're not humans. We aren't  like humans. We-"

                He stopped when he felt Mouser once again nuzzle into his fur, a soft purr rumbling deep in his belly, "We don't have to be like humans," he said, and despite himself, Scone once again found himself relaxing, "We can be like us, but like _our_ humans."

                "You're lucky I can't go anywhere," Scone grumbled, but didn't attempt to remove the other cat when he hopped gently over his back so he could lay his head on top of Scone's.

                Mouser rumbled out a chuckle, "You'd never talk to me about it otherwise."

                "I-" before Scone could respond, a metal thing crashed into the branch behind them, startling them out of their calm. After a few moments though, Food appeared at the top of the ladder and reached over to pick him up. Scone went with little resistance, and Mouser just hopped onto the human's head, which he seemed to have a problem with, because he scooped him off a moment later and carried them both down under his arm.

                Scone had never been so conflicted about being rescued from a tree in his life.

~~~~

                "I think our cats are warming to each other," Scotland chuckled, as he watched the two cats curled up together on England's favourite chair.

                "Our cats should warm up to each other in a different chair," England grumbled, and Scotland was absolutely certain that the cats wouldn't be in that chair at all if he wasn't laying quite so heavily on top of England.

                "Maybe they bonded up in that tree today."

                England scoffed, "They're cats, Scotland. How do you expect them to bond while stuck in a tree?"

                "They'll find a way, oh ye of little faith."

                England just hummed out a note of disbelief as the two cats nuzzled closer in their sleep.


	20. Just Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealous Scotty is jealous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I wrote Angsty/Jealous Scotland because reasons! I'm definitely gonna write a part two for this, but not right now because I wanna procrastinate my life away.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                Six...

                Seven...

                Eig-

                "You missed."

                Portugal sighed, looking down at the grape which had landed rather pathetically at his feet after he'd attempted to catch it in his mouth. It had instead bounced off of his nose, through his fingers and landed on the floor with a disappointing lack of noise.

                He pursed his lips, "I did."

                England smirked, "You know what that means."

                Portugal sighed, "I do."

                England fell back against the sofa to lay on his back with a smug smile, "You're paying for lunch."

                There was silence for a moment and then England felt a weight land on his stomach, making him groan loudly. "I think lunch can wait until after my siesta, right? Here seems like a good spot," And with that, Portugal flopped down on top of him, making him groan once again.

                "If you didn't want to buy lunch you should have won the game."

                Portugal ignored him, and settled himself more comfortably on top of England, groaning happily despite England's bony hips digging into his abdomen, "I just want a nap, is that a crime?"

                "If it kills me, then yes."

                Portugal looked up and pouted at the frowning nation underneath him, "You're so dramatic, I'm not _that_ fat, despite what _certain nations_ tells me."

                "When has anyone ever called you fat?"

                Portugal took in England's questioning eyebrow for a moment, before snorting out a laugh, "You, just now."

                England lifted a hand and flicked at Portugal's forehead, making the other man laugh again, "I did not. Stop twisting my words!"

                "Ahh, but they hold suck painful implications!" Portugal replied, sighing dramatically and propping himself up on his elbow so he could place a hand to his mouth in false horror, "You are cruel to me, I am but a simple man from Portugal, I-"

                Portugal rather suddenly found himself on the floor, England laughing from where he still laid on the couch, "Oh get off it, you tosser!"

~~~~

                Now, Scotland knew he was being stupid. He knew his emotions were unfounded and he knew, most of all, that he should trust England enough that these emotions shouldn't matter. But that didn't stop the curling in his gut that he felt when he saw Portugal and England laying together on the couch, laughing and joking and-

                They were friends. The best of friends.

                That was it.

                So why did it make him want to take Portugal by the scruff of the neck and throw him out of the house in such a way that he'd never come back.

                Never come back and drag England down on top of him off the couch so that the other nation was laying on his chest. The two of the laughing, their foreheads pressed together as if they were about to-

                They were friends. The best of friends.

                That was fucking it.

                The worst part was that he knew how irrational he was being. He was being completely stupid, because there'd never been anything between those two but friendship, not that England had told him about at any rate.

                He problem, he surmised, was that he could _see_ them having something more than a friendship. He could see England leaning down and closing that gap, he could see Portugal's arms coming up to cup his face, he could see a slow, steady burning love in them.

                But the worst part about that?

                He knew Portugal would be a million times better for him.

                And he'd be lying if he said that thought didn't break his heart.

                Gritting his teeth, he took in a large gulp of air, turning away from the living room and marching toward the door to slip on his shoes. "England! I've, uh- Got to go back to my place for a couple of days," He called, halting the laughing from the other room for a few seconds, until the pair appeared at the door to the living room.

                "Alright, is everything okay?" England asked, taking a few steps closer.

                "Yeah, everything's fine. I just have a few things to do."

                England scrutinized him for a moment, his eyes raking him up and down for any hint that he wasn't alright, while Scotland did his best impression of someone who wasn't having a raging internal battle. He sighed after a moment,  "Okay," he walked forward and pecked Scotland on the lips, "Drive safe."

                Scotland plastered on his usual swagger, "Of course I will, you worry too much, you little brat."

                England huffed and rolled his eyes, as Scotland stood and made his way to the door, "Yeah, yeah, if you get pulled over for speeding, the government will not be paying the difference this time."

                "Love you too, sweetheart!"

                Before he could hear what England's response to that was, he'd shut the door, making his way quickly to the car, and pulling out of the drive within twenty seconds. It was only once he was safely on the motorway that he allowed his brain to function again, and by then it was with a sick feeling in his stomach that he could only imagine what England and Portugal were doing behind him.

                 They were friends. The best of friends.

                But he couldn't help but wonder if there was more to it than that.

 


	21. Just Friends (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealous Scotty is still jealous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK what I'm doing I meant to have more of this done today but then I didn't and now I feel bad about myself... 
> 
> Needless to say, there will be a part 3.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                "Hey Wales. Have you heard from Scotland recently? He's not answering my calls."

                "No, I'm sorry, surprisingly enough, I don't make it a habit to gas with him on a regular basis."

                "You didn't have to elaborate. I got the point from the first three words."

~~~~

                Being drunk, was significantly better than being sober, Scotland had decided.

                Being sober meant he had to think, he had to face the facts that he should return south and tell England calmly and maturely about what was bothering him, and then have an equally calm and mature conversation about their relationship. Being drunk meant he could forget it all, be irrational and immature, and crudely imagine that their relationship was less than happy, because then he had an actual _reason_ to be angry, and not just the irrational fear that curled at his gut when he was sober.

~~~~

                "North, have you heard from Scotland?"

                "Not for about a week, I've been meaning to call him actually. Why do you ask?"

                "He's not answering his phone."

                "I'm sure it's just out of battery or something."

                "Of course, thank you, North."

~~~~

                You know what? Fuck England! Fuck him.

                Fuck England and his fucking ' _friends_ ' whom he no doubt fucks behind his back. He didn't even care about Scotland, not from the way he acted half the fucking time, he was just another fuck-toy to him. Kiss a guy and tell him you fucking love him just to get in his pants. He didn't think so! He'd worked it all out now, it wasn't going to happen again, he knew better.

                Haha! Fuck you England!

~~~~

                "France. Have you spoken to Scotland recently?"

                "As a matter of fact I have. He said something about you actually, said he wanted to talk about your relationship or something, and then he called back and said it didn't matter and he was being stupid. That was almost four days ago though."

                "What else did he say?"

                "Nothing much, I'm not some kind of miracle worker you know, I can't gather you answers, I can only tell you what he told me."

                "Yeah, whatever France."

~~~~

                Oh shit. He missed him already.

                That fucking English piece of shit.

                He wanted to hug him and kiss him and hold him and make love to him and hear his voice as it drifted through the wind of faerie's wings to his ears where it would trickle down his body and melt his heart and turn his legs to jelly so he'd fall head over heels where England was there to catch him.

                Shit, his arms were so empty.

~~~~

                "Pick up the phone you northern bastard."

~~~~

                England smelled delicious.

                He smelled warm and soft and all he wanted to do was bury his head in that scent and never let it leave his nose. He smelled like the past and the future and the present. Like open fields, and working machines. Like fragrant gardens and run-down offices. Like a bakery and a butchery.

                Like mundane and like magic.

                He just wanted to bury himself and never dig himself up.

~~~~

                England sighed, brushing Scotland's unkempt hair from his face, as he dozed drunkenly on his bed, which was blessedly located in Scotland's bungalow, meaning no stairs. In his current state of inebriation, England doubted he'd have made it even with America's help.

                He frowned at his sleeping face, bags under his eyes, he hadn't been sleeping. And it had been a long while since he'd worked himself into such a tizzy that he felt the need to get _this_ drunk. He'd hardly been conscious when England had arrived, and all he'd managed to say was what he thought might have been "Fuck you!" but honestly it could have been anything. What worried him most, though, was that whatever had happened to cause this had been so bad that he'd felt the need to run up north, and not even to his flat in Glasgow, but to his bungalow in Thurso, as far away from any of them as he could possibly get in his own country.

                England bit his lip, standing and leaving to fetch something for the nasty hangover Scotland was sure to have tomorrow, which may not be the best situation for a conversation, but he'd be damned if Scotland was escaping this one. There may have been a lot of things left up in the air about Scotland right now, but if there was one thing that England _did_ know with absolute certainty it was that they needed to _talk_.

                And they needed to do it now.


	22. Just Friends (Part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealous Scotty- You get the idea...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 2 am. I finished the thing. Good. Not the fic. My conscience. IDK if the fic is good. I've been running on a sugar high and now it's hella gone. I need to go to sleep...
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                Scotland awoke to the feeling of what he could only describe as being beaten repeatedly over the head with a blunt axe wielded by an idiot, blindly reaching out to the side of the bed to grasp the glass of water and few pills that sat there without question as to _how_ they got there. Merely grateful for their presence at all.

                "Morning, Scotland. Sleep well?"

                The voice was grating on his irritated brain, but that didn't stop him from recognizing the source and stiffening. _When the fuck did England get here? Did he see me last night? Oh shit, he must have. Holy shit, how much did I drink?_

                England cleared his throat, awaiting an answer.

                "I- uh..."

                The disapproving look on England's face didn't help the churning in  his stomach, it was the look he used to give his colonies when they misbehaved, and the last thing he wanted was for England to think any less of him. He wasn't sure his self-esteem could take the hit.

                England sucked in a breath of finality, standing up, "It seems you're not ready to talk yet, that's fine. But mark my words, we are going to be talking about whatever got you that drunk,"

                Part of him wanted to play it off, say something like, "It was alcohol, surprisingly enough," but he just couldn't bring himself to.

                "I'll be in the kitchen cooking breakfast, I suggest you shower while I'm doing so, you smell like booze." And with that, and nothing else, he left the room, and Scotland felt his chest tighten a little.

~~~~

                When he finally worked up the nerve to go down the hall, the pills and the shower having eased his headache enough to function, he found England chewing thoughtfully on a piece of (slightly overdone) scrambled egg on toast, staring blankly at the wall.

                England didn't notice him until he cleared his throat, announcing his arrival, and making the southerner look up at him with vague disapproval, "Up and at 'em, I see? Have you finally decided to stop childishly running away from your problems?"

                Scotland found himself bristling at England's tone, unable to keep himself from snapping, "I wouldn't _have_ to if you weren't so quick to brush aside my insecurities!"

                England raised an eyebrow in surprise, "When have I ever brushed aside your insecurities?" he asked, tilting his head, "Really, Scotland, I'd love to know because-"

                " _Don't be stupid, Scotland_!" Scotland began, in a crude imitation of England's own accent, " _What're you going on about_? It's always _keep calm and carry on_ with you, isn't it? Well, guess what, sometimes it's not that fucking easy!"

                "If you actually _shared_ your insecurities rather than vaguely hinting at them and expecting me to pick up on cues I haven't had a chance to learn then maybe I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss them!"

                "But you never _ask_ either! You don't see me looking down and ask ' _hey Scotland, you're looking down, whatever made you feel that way?_ ' you just pat me on the shoulder and tell me to buck up, 'cause things will get better."

                "You never _need_ to ask. I share with you! You know every facet of me I don't want you to know without having to raise a fucking finger, so why is it that I have to drive all the way to the back arse-end of your country, worried sick, mind you, just for you to still avoid telling me what's wrong anyway!"

                "You wanna know what's wrong, England? I'm scared!"

                At that England looked a little shocked, but even still, Scotland continued.

                "I'm scared of what I feel for you! I'm scared of what it's doing to me! I'm scared that you don't feel the same way! And I'm scared that someday you'll look me in the eye and tell me that you don't love me anymore because every other nation that has ever been in a relationship haven't lasted so why should we be any fucking different?

                "I'm scared that you'll find another nation who can offer you more than I can. I'm scared that you'll share all of yourself with them, because at the end of the day, ' _we_ ' are nothing special. I- I'm scared that what we have is nothing more than a cure for your loneliness. And I'm scared -terrified- that I'm just making a fool of myself all this time because-"

                Scotland rather suddenly found his lips occupied with something more appealing than talking. A hard, searing, but somehow gentle kiss pressed to his lips and preventing him from finishing his list of irrational fears, wrapped up in England's arms which clung to his neck and back and chest and face, and his lips which didn't leave any room for argument.

                "I love you," he said between one press of lips and another.

                "I want you," he said after another.

                "No one else has me,"

                "It's only you, Scotland,"

                "It's only you, only ever you,"

                Scotland sighed, turning his head away from England's kisses, so that they pressed against his cheek, "You can't promise that, in the future you-"

                "Fuck the future!" England announced, making Scotland look back at him in surprise, "Now is not the future. We always get so bogged down in what's _going_ to happen, we never focus on what we have when we have it, and do you know what? It sucks. I'm not doing that anymore. I love you now. This second of this hour of this day of this year I love you, and tomorrow, or next week, or next month, or next year, or next century I might not, but who the fuck cares?"

                Scotland found himself the one looking shocked this time, feeling shocked, but most of all, feeling that England was speaking the truth, and everything he'd just said made so much sense, and it filled him with a sense of relief so great that he found himself kissing England once again.

                They kissed all the way down the hall of Scotland's bungalow, onto Scotland's bed, out of their clothes and into the sheets between hazy moans and muffled gasps. They kept kissing the whole time, whether it be lips or cheeks or necks or anywhere, they kissed. They kept kissing until they heard the shrill beep of the fire alarm.

                Scotland laughed through England's lips, "Did you not take breakfast out of the oven?"

                England smiled, grinding his hips forward and rather successfully making Scotland forget about the alarm for a moment, "Heat of the moment, my dear, I'm sure you understand."

                "It's going to get a lot hotter in here if we don't turn it off."

                England's lips were now kissing up his jaw, "Surely you're not suggesting I stop?"

                Scotland groaned, because it should be illegal to be able to do that with someone's hand, "Oh god no, burn the whole fucking island, I don't care."

                "I don't think Wales would approve of that."

                Oh fuck that smug bastard thinking he's so high and mighty. Scotland flipped them, straddling England and pinning his arms to his sides, making the southern nation purr out a noise of satisfaction, "I-" he growled, low in his throat, "Don't-" and England seemed to like it all too much, because a blush had risen on his cheeks, all the way up to his ears, "Care."

                Surprisingly enough, there wasn't much talking after that.


	23. It's a Woman's World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I felt like Nyotalia England... What can I say?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had feels if a het variety... sorry not sorry, 'cause ScotEng with Nyo!England is way too cute. Fight me. Anyway, one arbitrary magical mix up later and we're here. No turning back now.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                _Wait. Who is that with Scotland? It isn't- It can't be..._

                Ireland found himself choking on his own saliva as the woman strolled into the room, heels clicking rhythmically on the floor in stark contrast to Scotland's tense footsteps. She looked up, a light smirk on her face, at all of the gaping nations as she took her usual seat, signalling that Scotland should pull up a chair beside her.

                "I hate this," Scotland grumbled.

                "Your chivalry is flattering, really poppet, but I can take care of myself," she chuckled then, her eyes  roaming over the room, "And anyway, I don't appear to be in any danger, everyone appears to be too flabbergasted to try anything."

                "England?" France choked out, shaking himself from his distraction.

                She raised an eyebrow at him, "What gave it away?"

                "I- I- Uh..."

                She snorted out a laugh, "Now France, if I'd known it were this easy to render you speechless I'd have done it years ago, unfortunately this is getting us nowhere and I'd quite like to be back to myself again before the end of the day, so if we could move this along, that would be brilliant."

                "Oh yes, because they're going to get over this that quickly," Scotland grumbled, pointedly making eye-contact with any nation whose face showed anything that could be considered ' _dodgy_ ' by his standards.

                "England, what happened to you?" Belarus asked, a fairly neutral expression on her face, tinged with only a little worry, "Surely you wouldn't be foolish enough to play with magic the night before a meeting."

                "No, my dear, I'm afraid I've been this way for a week or so," England replied, picking at her painted nails.

                Quite frankly it was strange to think that _England_ of all people could ever be _feminine_ , even as a woman. England was too... _England_ to be a woman... let alone a feminine woman. A feminine woman in heels and a skirt, with painted nails and painted lips, her hair in a loose and elegant bun atop her head. Honestly, Ireland could see why Scotland was being so tense and protective. He hated to say it, because England was a shithead, but he really did clean up nice, all things considered.

                "Scotland and I have been working to turn me back, but we had to take a break for this, you see."

                "Why did you not call, I could have been of help?"

                England rolled her eyes, pointing a thumb at Scotland, "This lug, and I have to tell you, I do rather prefer being on the giving end of the chivalry."

                "You can stop complaining!" Scotland groused, "You're the one who got yourself into this mess, you brought this on yourself."

                She sighed, "As true as that may be, I'm not entirely fond of the assumption that I can't deal with whatever shit my fellow nations can dish at me simply because I'm a woman now."

                Scotland rolled his eyes, "That's not what I'm trying to say."

                She raised an eyebrow, at him, "Enlighten me then Scotland."

                Scotland frowned, pointing directly across the table to where France was staring rather directly at where the buttons on England's blouse stopped being attached, "That's the reason."

                "Hey!" France protested, as England made a show of doing up her remaining buttons, "They're distracting, everyone in the room is looking at them, why-"

                "Because you're the only one being horribly _blatant_ about it."

                "Oh I see now," England said, her chest now modestly covered, "You're jealous."

                "I am not!"

                At Ireland's laugh he turned to scowl at him, "Scot, I've _seen_ you as a woman, if you weren't jealous of all the looks she was getting, you'd be jealous that she's hotter than you."

                "Are you calling my ugly?"

                "As a guy I'm not prepared to answer, but you're a bit of a butterface as a wo- oh shit, no, Scotland!" He leapt out of his chair as Scotland got out of his, laughing uproariously as Scotland chased him out the door.

                "I'll show you an ugly woman you fuckin-" the rest of Scotland's sentence was blissfully cut off by the slamming of the door behind him.

                England huffed, rolling her eyes laboriously, "Honestly, they're insufferable." There was the hint of a smile on her face though, as she turned to her fellow nations, "Shall we get started, I'm sure I can fill Ireland in should the need arise."

~~~~

                "Sweetheart, I hate to break it to you, but winning a fight with an independent nation isn't really something you can do these days." England sighed as she dabbed at the cut under Scotland's eye, soothing over the spot as he crossed his arms irritably. She chuckled, leaning forwards and pressing her lips to the wound gently.

                She felt Scotland smile gently, "You're nicer to me when you're a woman."

                She raised an eyebrow, "I could say likewise, you show that gentleman I've been trying to instil in you all these years. I knew it was there," she pressed their lips together, letting the touch linger for a moment before pulling back to say, "Who knew it was my womanhood that would bring it out?"

                As she pulled back, admiring the bright lipstick mark left on Scotland's mouth, she decided she rather liked it, and smiled a little, running her thumb over the stain. Scotland raised an eyebrow, "What?"

                She grinned, feral and hungry, "You look pretty in lipstick." She tilted her head, her smile turning smug, "More specifically, my lipstick."

                Scotland mirrored her expression, "Oh look at that, did I find a new kink to exploit?"

                "But you wouldn't!" She gasped, "I'm but a gentle lady! Whatever happened to that handsome gentleman I knew but a moment ago?"

                England snorted out a laugh as Scotland fell back on the bed, dragging her with him, "Handsome gentleman is going to take advantage of this while he has the chance."


	24. I Want a Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weather is shit. Scotty wants a holiday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBH this was an excuse to write Australia again, because he's a cutie and I don't give him enough love...
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                "It's raining."

                "In Britain? Oh my stars, call the queen and tell her I love her, the world is ending!"

                Scotland poked England rather hard in the ribs at that comment, making the southerner groan a little through a chuckle, "Okay, fine, why do you mention it?"

                "I want a holiday."

                England raised an eyebrow, "To where, everywhere here is-"

                "No, no, I was thinking somewhere... different."

                "Different?"

                Scotland nodded, a slightly thoughtful expression on his face, "Do you think Australia would let us borrow a beach for a bit?"

                England snorted loudly, "If you try to use a beach in Australia you'll burn like a baby, and I will _not_ be the one rubbing after-sun all over you."

                "Fine then, what do you suggest?"

~~~~

                "Remind me again how we ended up in Australia?" England asked, as the two of them finally passed through Australia's... slightly terrifying border security (the two of them had seen enough shitty TV shows to know exactly what happens when you try to bring bees into the country).

                "Because your suggestions were shit, and Australia was kind enough to give us full access of his beach house," Scotland replied, checking his watch, "We're making quite good time actually, did he say if he was picking us up or meeting us there?"

                "He was pi-"

                "Hey mates!"

                "Picking us up."

~~~~

                "Why is your place so hot?" England groaned, as he fanned himself with the book he'd previously been reading.

                Australia raised an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk on his face, "Y'know, you've had the same complaint since you first colonized, makes me wonder why you did in the first place sometimes." England opened his mouth to reply, a smile coming to his face, before Australia interrupted him, "And don't you _dare_ go for the obvious 'I needed somewhere to put my convicts' joke!"

                England looked up at him, snorting out a laugh, "Would I _ever_?"

                "Yes, you would you bloody pommy, now get in the water, that's what you're here for isn't it?"

                England shook his head, "It's what _Scotland_ dragged me here for. I came for the terrifying wildlife and unbearable heat, obviously."

                Australia smiled a little too widely at that, "Well, keep going on and I might just summon that wildlife!" his smile dropped, "Speaking of Scotland, where is he?"

                England laid back on his towel, shifting his feet so they were out of the sun, "He said something about finding some tea, I still can't believe you don't have _any_."

                Australia rolled his eyes, "Why would I, I hardly ever drink it."

                "Hey shit for brains!"

                "Oh, speak of the devil." The two turned around to see Scotland walking down the beach, a towel and a cooler in each hand, "Did you find tea?"

                Scotland shook his head, "No, they only had coffee at the corner shop, but they did have beer, so I bought that instead."

                "Good shout, lob me one over?"

                He placed the cooler and towel down under the remaining shade of the umbrella, plucking out two bottles of beer and tossing one to each of the other men, who chorused their thanks, popping the caps with their teeth and took a simultaneous swig. Australia finished first, smiling wryly at England, "So Scotland's here, _now_ will you get in the water?"

                Scotland snorted, "I doubt it, the lad never learned to swim."

                England huffed irritably, "I never had the need!"

                Scotland raised his bottle to his mouth, "Sure thing, sweetheart, whatever you say."

                "You can stop acting so high and mighty, I-"

                "Wait, wait, you mean you never taught him? What kind of big brother were you?" Australia asked, through a laugh.

                "This may come as news to you, laddie, but England used to be the kind of little shit who tried to do everything on his own," Scotland sighed, "Even if that mean falling from a tree and _breaking his spine_."

                "That happened _once_ , and I'll have you know that the village-folk were a lot more supportive than you were!"

                "I offered to help you down."

                "I didn't need the help."

                "Well, clearly you did."

                "That sounds like the time I rode a wild kangaroo, and..." Australia chuckled, his chuckle turning to full out laughter at the look of horror that appeared on England's face, "He-"

                "Scotland doesn't need to hear that story!"

                "No! Now he _has_ to tell me!"

                "He most certainly does not!"

                "I rode it into-"

                "Australia!"

                "Into the camp, ri-"

                At this point, Australia found himself tackled by one extremely flustered Brit, as the other laughed from the sidelines. The flustered one placed a hand over his mouth, scowling at him, "Australia, I swear-"

                "What?" he laughed, raising an eyebrow, after licking England's hand to make him let go, something he'd learned as a child was extremely effective at doing so, disregarding the sand he got in his mouth, it was a familiar feeling, "You're gonna send me to my room?"

                "No! But so help me I will find something!"

                Needless to say, Australia shut up after that, but as soon as England found himself asleep in the heat of the day, Australia successfully shared the story of how England had gotten a concussion singlehandedly trying to remove a wild kangaroo from their camp. It is also needless to say, I think, that when England woke up, he was suitably teased, and Scotland was suitably covered in the remains of England's warm beer.


	25. How Many?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scotland is curious as to how many partners England has had in the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK man. That's all.
> 
> Side note: A lot of these are turning sexy at the end recently... I honestly have no idea what that's about.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                "How many?"

                "You're going to have to elaborate, Scotland, I'm not a mind reader."

                "You know what I'm talking about."

                "I can't say I-"

                "Why won't you just _tell me_?"

                England smirked a little at Scotland's whine, sparing him a quick glance before rising from his chair, patting him on the cheek lightly before trotting off down the hall, leaving Scotland to groan again. He stomped off in the other direction, intent on trying a new plan.

~~~~

                "Okay I'm gonna say a number and you're going to tell me hot or cold."

                "No."

                "Ten."

                England snorted.

                "One hundred."

                England raised an eyebrow, "Really, Scotland, how much of a slut do you think I am? That would be over _half_ the world."

                "I'm benchmarking!"

                "Yes, because between ten and one hundred really narrows it down."

                "Fifty?"

                "I already told you, I'm not telling you."

                Scotland groaned, "Why _not_?"

                "What happened between me and my previous partners is none of your concern."

                "I'm not asking for detailed accounts, just a number. Come on, I'm just curious!"

                England wrinkled his nose in that way that implied the conversation was over and he didn't plan on talking anymore. Scotland groaned again, slumping back into thin air and wandering down the hall in search of a new tactic.

~~~~

                "Okay, I'm going to name a country and you're going to tell me if you've slept with them."

                "You can name as many countries as you want, I'm not-"

                "France?"

                "Scotland, you _know_ I've slept with France."

                "Okay, Spain?"

                England remained dutifully silent.

                "I'll take that as a yes. Portugal?"

                "Scotland, I'm not answering your questions. It doesn't matter how many people I've slept with, I'm sleeping with you now. Now go and find something more productive to do with your time."

                Scotland gritted his teeth, but left, one final plan of action taking root in his head.

~~~~

                "France, you're the grapevine of gossip in Europe, right?"

                "That would be me, yes, how can I help you today?"

                "I need to know how many people England has slept with."

                France was silent on the other side of the line, and for a moment Scotland thought he'd hung up, but then he spoke again, "Well, all of Western Europe other than your other siblings, as far as I'm aware, he's done his dealings in Eastern Europe, and- Wait, are you counting threesomes?"

                Scotland blinked in surprise for a moment before answering the question, "Yes?"

                "Oh, then tack on a few more."

                Scotland almost laughed at that.

                "Then in Asia add a few more, and probably give India a few points because those two were just all over-"

                "I get it, France, just keep going."

                France chuckled, "He slept with America, but only once as far as I'm aware. And he, Canada, and I once had a threesome so add one more there. I heard a rumour about he, Australia, and New Zealand, although I can neither confirm or deny that one, so I'm going to assume it's not true for now. Give me a moment to add that up and..." France paused, "Not including any human partners he may have had, because I don't doubt that would take the number into the high hundreds and maybe even thousands with the amount of time he's lived and his habit of hiring hookers every other day in his pirate days, he has slept with about forty-five countries, give-or-take, based on my knowledge. Keep in mind that there may be more I don't know about, and I may have been given false information."

                Scotland wasn't sure whether to be impressed or disappointed with that number, the way England avoided the question made him think it was a lot higher, but then again, with his habit of being fairly monogamous, he also didn't find himself _that_ surprised that the number was lower than he expected.

                "Say, France how _do_ you know all this?" he asked, suddenly realizing that France had just been able to recount all of England's lovers off of the top of his head.

                "Darling, I know about everyone's sex lives. It's a point of pride for me that I'm who people come to for advice, what do you expect?"

                "England comes to you for advice?"

                "Only once, for Belgium I believe, but no, it's usually his partners who seek me out."

                "Why?"

                "He's a tricky man to figure out, my friend, not everyone had the privilege of growing up with him like you and I." There was a moment of silence between the two as Scotland thought about that. It was true that England had a hard shell, but it was easy to get inside with the right leverage. Then again, if the other person didn't _know_ what the right leverage _was_ then they could be stuck chipping at that shell for centuries and still not get anywhere with it. If there was one thing he knew about England, was that his walls came down easily, but they were put up fast and never deconstructed by his own hand, you had to pull the bricks loose yourself.

                "Think about it this way, you were lucky, you didn't have to learn his quirks, you already knew them, so it was easier for you to... how do I put this gently?"

                Scotland chuckled, "Put up with him?"

                "Yes," France laughed a little, "That."

~~~~

                "I worked it out!"

                "Did you now?"

                Scotland smiled happily as he landed heavily on the settee next to England, "Yup, turns out all I had to do was ask France."

                England narrowed his eyes at nothing in particular, "That traitor."

                "You know, I was expecting the number to be grander."

                England raised a brow at him, "Oh, I'm sorry, were you expecting a bigger slut?"

                Scotland chuckled and leaned over him, pinning him to the sofa. England's gaze turned hazy, in that way Scotland had learned to associate with a _really_ good fuck, as he placed a hand over each of his wrists and loomed over him, "Oh, no. You're a plenty big slut, opening your legs for all those countries, and here I thought I was special."

                England smirked, "Oh, darling," he said, his legs wrapping tightly around his thighs, "If it's a slut you want-"

                Scotland shut up that hazy smirk with a press of his thigh to England's groin, "It's a slut I've got," he chuckled at England's breathy hum of pleasure, pressing his thigh up again to make him repeat the noise, "You don't have to pretend, I know the truth."

                England smiled, leaning his head to the side to nip playfully at the wrist there, sucking at the shin, "If you're going to call me a slut, then treat me like one," He said, his eyes opening, looking Scotland directly in the eye, but not removing his mouth from his wrist.

                Scotland let go of England's other wrist, grasping England's chin between his fingers and turning his head roughly to face him, "With pleasure."


	26. Who's Your Favourite?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England is woken rudely in the middle of the night to a stupid question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one because I don't really have time to write, but I've been busy and deserve a break, so fuck it.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                Arthur was rather rudely awakened by his phone, at what he could only describe as an ungodly hour because he didn't care to check the clock, as he stabbed blindly at the answer button and held it to his ear.

                "What?"

                In his experience it was only ever once of his former colonies who ever called at this time in the morning, anyone from Europe would know better. Or at least _most_ of the time. But that wasn't the issue.

                "Arthur! Arthur shit did I wake you?"

                At this point England opened his eyes enough to peer at the clock, bristling as America's voice called (far too loud, might he add) through the speakers. Semi-conscious of the groan that came from beside him, he replied, "No, America, it's only four in the morning, I'm always up this fucking early."

                "Oh good!" America replied cheerfully, and now that he was a little more awake England could rather clearly hear the slight slur in his voice that meant he'd been drinking, which only meant that this call would get them absolutely nowhere. "So dude, Mattie and I were talking, right, and I'm like, _dude_ , there is no way you're his favourite, because he seems to think so, and that's fuckin' stupid, right, I mean he's such a fuckin' pansy and- Fuck Matt! What was that for?"

                The was some scuffling on the other end of the line, which England waited through with the patience of a saint, if he did say so himself.

                "Yeah, so anyway, Jack and Willie both overheard us talking- Did I mention they were here? They're here. And so is Leon, like all of us, 'cause I gotta catch up with my bros, y'know?"

                England hummed tiredly.

                "And then all of them were like, nah man, _I'm_ the favourite, which means war. 'Cause I mean you _gotta_ have a favourite..."

                Oh god did the boy ever shut up? Had he always been this mouthy? No, he'd been a dream as a child, this had come after his independence... and the alcohol wasn't helping, he was sure. Maybe if he fused all of his kids he'd get someone that was actually-

                He stopped that thought in its tracks. He wasn't sure the world could handle a fusion of his kids. They'd be consumed with a mixture of hyperactivity and passive aggression, all wrapped up in a bow of cockiness and being a combination of simultaneously too smart and too dumb for their own good. Yes, he took it back. Leave them firmly separate.

                "So? Who's your favourite?"

                England sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose, but before he could reply, the phone was pulled from his grip, a sleep heavy growl coming from his side, " _I'm_ his favourite, now let us fuckin' sleep you ungrateful toe-rags."

                Scotland pressed the end call button and passed the phone back to England who managed a laugh as Scotland rolled over to smother him into the mattress. He carelessly tossed the phone back onto the bedside table and burrowed into Scotland's neck, a happy groan coming from Scotland as his arms squeezed tightly. "What makes you so sure you're my favourite?" England asked through a smile.

                "Nah, Canada's your favourite, but I like to kid myself."

                England snorted out a laugh at that, kissing lightly at Scotland's jaw, "Don't sell yourself short, if you make breakfast tomorrow you'll scoot up the list."

                Scotland yawned, "Nice try."


	27. I Win, You Lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England wins. Scotland Loses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick thing.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

                England was leant so far up off the chair, he might as well have been standing, Scotland in a similar situation at his side, both of their eyes locked directly on the screen.

                "Miss! You fucking- No!"

                Scotland fell back against the sofa as England whooped with joy, practically jumping across the room in celebration. Jumping on the sofa and beaming at Scotland in a way that told him he was going to be in for an awful rest of the week. The bragging may just be enough for him to finally off the bastard once and for all. And that's not even going to be the worst part.

                "Suck my gigantic football-winning dick, Scotland!" He laughed, making Scotland's eyes narrow dangerously.

                _Of all the games to fucking lose_...

                England grinned as he fell down to land on Scotland's lap, his eyes shining dangerously, and making Scotland grimace. "You lose." And the way he said it with such utter glee was just about the last straw for Scotland.

                He yanked England down onto the sofa, muting his grin for only a moment, before letting it return in full force as soon as Scotland had settled above him, that look of _'fight it all you want, I've already won'_ on his face, that just made Scotland bristle more.

                _At least it was a close game_...

                England raised an eyebrow, "I think there's a little something with your name on it upstairs," he said, his eyes widening in false innocence, as Scotland grit out an irritated sound in the back of his throat. England just put his hands behind his head smugly, leaning back into the sofa, "A deal's a deal Scotty-dearest. If you put it on now, I might consider _not_ taking and sharing pictures."

                Scotland sat back, "Yeah right, you're going to take pictures anyway, just for blackmail."

                England batted his eyelashes, a disturbing sight, "Would I ever?"

                "Yes," Scotland grumbled, standing to make his way out of the room, doing his best to ignore whatever England was saying through that huge, insufferable, stupid fucking grin.

                One day he was going to get revenge, and then the jammy fucker would regret even thinking up this idea in the first place. And granted, he had no idea what he was gonna do to England as punishment for this, but Europe would absolutely _never_ let him live it down, that was for fucking sure.

~~~~

                It took almost an hour for Scotland to come back down, not that England minded, spending the time watching the after-match commentary with the sort of smug satisfaction that he could never get away with without a fist to the face before it was dubbed domestic violence. But alas, Scotland had lost the game, and England had won the game, and now Scotland had to face his punishment like a man. A grumbling and vaguely angry man, admittedly, but a man nonetheless.

                The living room door swung open and England looked up with a grin, a grin that only doubled when he saw Scotland.

                He was so fucking glad he'd chosen this punishment.

                Specifically, a tiny maid's outfit, complete with white stockings and a feather duster. Quite honestly it was perhaps the funniest thing he'd ever seen, Scotland's hair was even tied back into one of those stupid bonnets.

                "You look so good in a miniskirt, pet," he said, his tone one of a man who was desperately trying to hold in laughter, his breathing shaking against the urge.

                Scotland scowled deeper than he had been already, "I'm sure I do, can I take it off now?"

                England bit his lip as he rolled off the sofa and trotted up to Scotland, picking at the skirt despite Scotland's hard glare, "But why ever would you want to do that? Doesn't it make you feel pretty?"

                At Scotland's growl, he finally allowed himself to let out a loud snort of laughter.

                "I swear to god, England..."

                "What?" England asked in reply, his hands moved up to play with the dress' puffy sleeves, "You don't feel pretty?"

~~~~

                Scotland didn't have sex with him for two weeks. It was only after England gave him an offer he couldn't refuse, that he finally caved...

                Ireland now has that photo posted on his fridge along with the rest of his 'blackmail for later' collection. It takes pride of place alongside a picture of England, covered in mud with his pants around his ankles, and another of Wales, asleep with half a set of buckaroo hanging off of his face. Truly the masterpieces of the current generation, if Ireland did say so himself.


	28. A- What?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's 4am IDK man...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I have to say is that it's 4am and this is un-spell-checked. You ever wonder if the decision you're making is a good one?
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                World meetings were a pain in the proverbial ass. As, England was sure, most countries would agree (and he only said _most_ and not _all_ , because he was sure there was at least one twisted soul out there that saw them as a _bonding opportunity_ or some other bollocks). World meetings were an especially huge pain in the ass when _you_ were the one hosting, something England was rather miserably lamenting.

                At least he'd gotten _his_ bit over with, he supposed miserably, casting his eyes over to Ireland who seemed to be lazily playing with a couple of pixies who were flitting around his head. He inwardly growled, they were most certainly _his_ pixies, the fact that they'd choose to entertain Ireland and not him was just-

                There was a loud crash outside the room, as if a large animal was barging its way down the hall and knocking everything over in the process. And if the equally loud clomping footfalls were anything to go by, he'd be correct in that assumption.

                The room went absolutely silent for the ten seconds it took the clomping footfalls to reach the door.

                And then the doors burst open, and everyone remained absolutely silent in awe of what they saw.

                A unicorn.

                A huge unicorn with the stature of what England's trained eye identified as a Clydesdale, although its colouring seemed to be reversed, and it's hair a vibrant shade of auburn rather than brown, and a horn that easily measured a metre long. Quite simply speaking, it was breathtaking.

                All at once, England, Ireland, and Norway were out of their seats, and hurrying over to the creature, who pawed at the ground anxiously. They were soon followed by Romania and Belarus, who stood a little way away, carefully analyzing the expressions of everyone in the room to make sure none of them panicked and spooked the creature.

                "Easy boy," Norway cooed, pressing a hand lightly to its neck, "Easy."

                "We got you," Ireland continued, reaching out a hand so it could sniff at his hand, which it promptly sneezed on.

                England snorted out a laugh at Ireland's noise of disgust, "You have no finesse with these creatures, Ireland," and reached to do the same, a light smile on his face. The unicorn, eyes a deep, and strangely familiar shade of green, looked up at him and nickered, pressing forward into his hand. "There, see," and didn't even bother to hide the smug look on his face as Ireland pouted.

                England ran a hand up the unicorn's nose, it letting out a content snort, "What a beautiful boy you are," he said, his voice practically dripping with adoration.

                A little known fact about England; his absolutely favourite magical creature was a unicorn (Of course, never tell that to Flying Mint Bunny).

                So he certainly wasn't going to pass up this opportunity, especially since it was blissfully distracting him from the meeting.

                Norway nodded, a hand travelling up to scratch behind its ear, which made it nicker happily again, "You're lovely," he agreed.

                "Uh, guys?"

                The three of them turned around. America was looking at them in what can only be described as dumbfounded astonishment, "Please tell me we can all see what I think I'm seeing and that I'm not as crazy as the looney-bin over there."

                There was a general chorus of, "No, we can see it too, and we're just as freaked out as you are."

                England grit his teeth, "Who are you calling the looney-bin?" he said tensely, but the unicorn chose that moment to take a step forward and rest its chin on England's shoulder, a small and slightly pleased whinny coming from it. England turned back to it, his hand smoothing up its snout, "Hey, hey," he smiled, "What do you want?"

                At that, the unicorn stood to its full height, pushing past him to happily wander over to the old chalk-board that sat on one of the walls.

                The five magic-savvy nations frowned at the unicorn's actions, unsure exactly what to make of them, the other nations leaning away from the creature as it passed them.

                "Hey England?" Norways said a little absentmindedly, not taking his eyes off of the unicorn as it sniffed a little at the board, "I feel inclined to tell you that those unicorn horns I used to sell you were narwhal tusks."

                England turned to him with a look of amusement, "I worked that out hundreds of years ago, Norway."

                Norway shrugged, "I felt the need to clear my conscience."

                The unicorn whinnied in irritation as it seemed to not find what it was looking for, stomping a little on the floor and huffing out a snort. The five magical nations hurried over to it, each running a soothing hand over some part of it. It huffed as England approached its nose again, and leaned its head forward to once again rest against England's shoulder.

                "He likes you," Romania noted with amusement.

                "Well I can only assume he's one of mine so-" At that the unicorn butted the side of their heads together. Hard. "Ow, what was that for!" he demanded of the creature, who only settled its head again and made a sound which sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

                "I don't think he likes being called yours," Ireland said with more than a little amusement.

                Another sound which sounded like agreement.

                It rather suddenly perked up, turning toward the chalkboard and running it's horn down it with the most awful scraping noise that had most of the nations groaning and clutching at their ears.

                When the noise stopped the unicorn nickered and nudged at England to get him to look up.

                Written messily on the board in all caps was...

                **I'M SCOTLAND**

                England's eyes widened, as did most of the room, "Scotland?"

                The unicorn bobbed it's head, neighing happily.

                Ireland stared at it, his mouth wide open, "Scot- what? How?"

                The unicorn, now identified as Scotland, seemed to think for a moment before turning back to the board, to which the general consensus of the room was a firm "NO!"

                England stared for another moment, at the Scotland-unicorn who looked a little affronted at the loud yell, before leaning forward and pressing his lips lightly to the place just below where the horn protruded from Scotland's head.

                There was a bright light one moment, which caused yet another universal groan from everyone in the room, and then Scotland was standing in front of England, slightly bent over, with England's lips still pressed gently to his forehead. When England pulled back it was with an amusedly raised eyebrow, to which Scotland replied with a sheepish grin.

                "Care to explain?"

                "Well..."

~~~~

                Long story short, Scotland made the mistake of thinking that petting a baby unicorn would be a good idea. The baby unicorn's mother on the other hand, most certainly _did not_ think that petting the baby unicorn was a good idea.

~~~~

                "You're kidding?" Ireland laughed, making Scotland ruefully shake his head.

                "I'm afraid not."

                "You're actually the world's biggest twat," England sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "What would you have done had you not been able to find me?"

                Scotland shrugged, "Probably wander the highlands for a while and excite some hikers." England levelled him a dry look which prompted the sheepish smile back into Scotland's face. He coughed, "Or hidden until you'd come back so you could fix it...?" He sent a glance at Ireland, who gave him a thumbs up.

                England raised a miffed eyebrow at them both, "I'm _quite certain_ you would have."

                Scotland's face split into a mischievous grin, "Has anyone told you you're sexy when you're pissed off?"

~~~~

                The meeting let out after a giggly Scotland fled the room followed by a _more_ pissed off England and an all too amused Ireland, Romania, Norway, and Belarus. The rest of the countries then silently, but unanimously, decided that the incident should just be forgotten, and the meeting continued tomorrow when no countries who had been turned into things that don't exist would barge into the room.


	29. The Deep Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, the sea...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK why but I love the headcanon that Scotty gets seasick... also that he's a pathetic little bab when he gets sick (man-flu much?).
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                Ahh, the sea.

                The deep blue expanse that told of nothing but freedom and adventure, with the taste of salt which seemed to seep into your very bones as your body swayed with the ever-churning swell of the water beneath your feet and-

                "Hey, England, pass me a beer!"

                England sighed heavily, unfortunately, it seemed his appreciation of the great blue would have to wait. His siblings were with him, oh joy of joys, and here he thought he'd get a day to himself.

                He looked up at Ireland's expectant face a little reproachfully as he reached for a bottle and threw it at him unceremoniously, "Woah, what got your knickers in a twist?"

                "You," England said simply, with what was most definitely _not_ a pout, more of what one might call an irritated pursing of the lips.

                "Aw, you don't mean that," Ireland replied, with what most definitely _was_ a pout, although one that held more sarcasm than anything else.

                "I most certainly do, I-"

                "Oh, will you two _please_ attempt to get along for once?" North sighed, plopping herself down on the bench next to Ireland and fixing him with a look that made his smirk turn to a jellied mush of hopeless affection. England sincerely hoped he never made that face at Scotland, or else he'd have to seriously reconsider the way his life was headed.

                Wales snorted loudly at North's question, looking up from the book clutched tightly in his hands, "North, I think you're forgetting who you're talking about."

                She shook her head with a small and slightly smug smile, "Of course I'm not," she said simply, raising an eyebrow at Ireland as she placed a hand on his arm, "You're going to play nice, now, aren't you Paddy?"

                Ireland fumbled over his answer, really he was pathetic where the Northern part of their island was involved, and perhaps said Northern part was cruel to him, but he was such a git half the time that England couldn't find it in himself to stop her.

                Scotland's head appeared from below deck, looking decidedly green but curious all the same, "Ireland sounds like he's being stupid, what did I miss?"

                "Nothing but England being a little bitch," Wales replied.

                Scotland grimaced as the boat rocked again, "Okay, as long as I'm not missing a pissing contest," and then dropped his head back into the cabin.

                England rolled his eyes, getting up and heading for the cabin, "I'm going to make sure he's alright, don't let the boat sink while I'm down there."

                "No promises," Wales replied, his head firmly back in his literature.

                Below deck Scotland was curled up on the 'sofa', which consisted of a few uncomfortable cushions arranged in the _shape_ of a sofa, his eyes closed and his face still decidedly a rather unpleasant shade of green. England walked over to him, completely steady despite the wave that hit the boat, causing a muffled curse from above deck, and sank down to sit beside him, running a hand gently through his hair. "Why are you here Scotland?" he asked, making Scotland tense.

                "Don't you want me here?" He grumbled in response, burying his face into one of the uncomfortable cushions.

                "Don't twist my words," England snapped, "What I'm trying to say is that you're hardly having the best of times, now are you?"

                England rather suddenly thought back to the days where Canada was still his colony, when Scotland would stubbornly board a boat for weeks of sea-sickness just to see the tyke. This, however, was _not_ the same situation.

                "I'm fine."

                England rolled his eyes, "You're not, you're sick as a pig, you could have sat this one out, no one would have minded."

                "Oh, I see, so you _don't_ want me-"

                "I _said,_ stop twisting my words!" England growled, "I wanted to have a peaceful day on the water, now it's turned into a family outing, and I don't mind that so much, but I could have picked something more to all of our tastes if I'd known this would happen."

                Scotland grimaced as the boat got hit by a particularly large wave, clutching his stomach, as England hardly swayed, distantly he could hear something smash up on the main deck and had to physically restrain himself from going back up there by gripping onto the cushions underneath him. He looked back down at Scotland a moment later, sighing and returning a hand to his hair to run soothing patters over his scalp. Scotland just groaned.

                "If you throw up on me I will not be amused in the slightest."

                That made Scotland smile just a little as he let out a weak laugh, "Neither will I."

                England sighed, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple, "I'm taking us in." At Scotland's weak protest, England shook his head, "You're miserable, Wales is just reading, and I'm pretty sure Ireland has already finished half of the alcohol I brought out here. It will be better for all of us, I think, if we return to my cottage."

                Scotland nodded weakly, not meeting England's eye, knowing he was just making excuses, "Okay."

~~~~

                "Is he still moaning?" Wales said with a roll of his eyes as he passed the living room. England looked up from the television as Scotland, huffing out an irritated noise as he curled the blanket currently covering him tighter around himself, buried his head further into England's lap.

                England hummed out a note in the affirmative, "Need I remind you of the last time _you_ were unwell Wales?"

                Wales waved him off dismissively, "The circumstances were different. I didn't stupidly go out to sea knowing I got majorly seasick."

                England shrugged, "His stupidity is hardly your concern."

                Wales raised an eyebrow curiously at the pair, but in the end only shook his head and left the two alone.

                "Your stupidity _is my_ concern though Scotland, so I would ever so much appreciate it if you didn't do this again."

                Scotland just grumbled something about not letting the rest of them have all the bloody fun, which made England once again roll his eyes but not without the tiniest hint of a smile, which of course was lost to Scotland, his head buried in England's lap as it was.

                Needless to say, I think, they didn't go on another boating expedition after that.


	30. Old Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scotland is panicking, Wales helps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really have no idea how I feel about this chapter. I wrote it as a break from attempting to finish this chapter of 'Drinks on the Losers!' for about the thousandth time... It was more of a way for me to chill and remember that writing can be chill if you let it. All around I'm pretty 'meh' about it, there are better chapters on here, there are worse, but I might as well post it, because otherwise it's just gonna sit here and do nothing. I feel like the main worry I have about this chapter is that it might be a bit OOC... IDK tho.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

"Wales!"

                Wales lets out a sound which can only be described as _what the fuck do you want?_ , holding the phone a small way from his ear, "Scotland, it's six in the fucking morning, if the world isn't ending I'm going to find you and kill you, then feed your corpse to Gwlanog after slowly roasting it over an open spit to the perfect golden-brown!"

                "Wales I'm panicking, I don't know what to do!"

                Wales rolled onto his back, "Well, spit it the fuck out."

                "I woke up and England was a kid, he _is_ a kid, I don't know what to do! I'm shit with kids, I don't want to scar him, I did a bad enough job the first time and-"

                "Shut up." Wales sighed, "I'll be there in a minute."

~~~~

                When he arrived in England's living room, he was rather instantly greeted by a childish scream and what sounded like Scotland calling to the source of said childish scream. He peered out of the door, and into the hall just in time to be run head-long into by a small mound of green fabric and blonde hair.

                The child, _England_ , it was most definitely England, fell backwards, looking up at him with tears brewing in his eyes. Wales rather quickly reached down for the child England, not entirely sure what to do when faced with his tears. "Hey, hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to knock you over," he said quickly, watching as little England rubbed at his eyes just as Scotland rounded the corner.

                "I want Mummy!" Child England said loudly, turning back to Scotland, letting his tiny fists drop and sniffing loudly, "I want Mummy, I don't want you!"

                Wales was a little taken aback, blinking at him. He'd been the same age as England when he was like this the first time around. This was more than strange.

                Scotland had somehow managed to sneak up behind the pint-sized Brit and scoop him up into his arms, receiving a wail of protest for his troubles, "Mummy isn't here," he said softly, making England stop in his troubles and look at him as if he were about to burst into tears.

                "Well, where is Mummy?"

                Scotland sighed, "In a good place, but we can't see her," he said, making England's lip quiver, "Your big brothers are here to look after you."

                "Big brothers?"

                Scotland nodded, "I'm Scotland, and this is Wales," he gestured to Wales, who waved cautiously, prompting a tiny, watery, wave in return.

                It was obvious to Wales that any amount of calm on Scotland's part was an act, a convincing act, he'd grant, but an act that would drop as soon as England's child self decided to take a nap of leave his sight for more than thirty seconds.

                England frowned at Wales, "Why is he not a land too?"

                Wales frowned back, "What do you mean?"

                "I'm _Eng_ land, he's _Scot_ land, why aren't you Walesland?"

                Wales chuckled, patting the boy on the head, which he seemed to resent, "I'm a rebel. Never could play by the rules, me."

                Scotland scoffed, but Wales sent him a scowl after the excited look of adoration England sent him, "Do you fight evil kings and save damsels and slay dragons?"

                Wales laughed, "Oh no, I never slay dragons, I make friends with them."

                At that, England's eyes lit up like the Blackpool Christmas lights. "Really! You're friends with Dragons?"

                Wales nodded, "Best of friends."

                "Wow! Can I meet them?"

                Wales pretended to think about that for a moment, watching from the corner of his eye as England's expression changed into one of the purest childish hope, "I don't see why not."

                At the look of panic Scotland sent him, he leaned over to him, "I'll take him to play with Gwlanog while you find a way to turn him back."

                "But he's- what if-"

                "He'll be fine, Scotland," Wales said, rolling his eyes, and plucking England from the eldest sibling's hold, "Gwlanog wouldn't hurt a child, not even if you bribed her."

                At being taken from Scotland's hold, England frowned, "Is Scotland not coming too?" he asked a little worriedly.

                Scotland shook his head, "'Fraid not, wee one."

                England pouted heavily at that, "But then who will I save from the dragon?"

                The both of them struggled to find a response to that.

                England crossed his arms, "I can't go if I don't have a princess. And I want big brother to be my princess."

                A strange look crossed over Scotland's face, one that seemed to be a mixture of about six different emotions at once. I took a moment, but eventually he spoke, "Okay, I can be your princess, wee one, I just-" he swallowed, "I need to do something first."

                And then he fled down the hall.

                Wales watched after him for a moment, before placing England on the floor, "Stay here, okay, play with Scone, you see the cat in there," little England turned to where Wales was pointing, "I just have to help him for a minute, and then we can go and play with Gwlanog, okay?"

                England nodded excitedly, bounding over toward the cat. Wales turned away after a moment, hurrying down the hall toward where he'd seen Scotland hurry, and eventually happened upon a loud bang against a locked bathroom door.

                Wales approached it cautiously, "Scotland?" he called, making the banging stop suddenly.

                The door opened and he was dragged inside unceremoniously, Scotland slamming the door behind them and sink down against it, his head hidden in his hands which were hidden in his knees.

                "It's like every mistake I ever made, looking at that face," he choked, "Fuck. I could live with myself when he's an adult, because he's just as bad to me, but I can't- Not when he looks so bloody _innocent_. I was such a shit big brother, I don't deserve to see him look at me like that."

                Wales just stared at him in awe, for a moment before he was able to find speech, "You weren't-" he said softly, "You weren't _that_ shit."

                Scotland looked up at him with bloodshot eyes and a confused expression.

                "You taught us how to hunt, and you showed us how to talk to the Fae, and- I mean sure there were the raids, but we _all_ did shitty things in the past. Other people have done shittier."

                "But I was your _brother_ ," Scotland choked, "I was the _big_ brother. I was supposed to _protect_ you, not attack you. Mum always... I never- I wish..." He let out a sardonic laugh, "Even if I didn't try to stop it, I could have at least done you the favour of not _enjoying_ it."

                "Scotland." Wales said, with the kind of authority that isn't to be messed with, "We've all forgiven you for that. Years ago. Stop beating yourself up over it, the only person you're hurting is yourself. And it's over a person who isn't even _you_ anymore."

                Scotland was about to reply when there was a firm but clumsy knock on the bathroom door.

                "Excuse me, but the inside-cat escaped to the outside and now I have no one to play with."

                Scotland instantly looked up, wiped at his eyes, and turned to open the door, "Hey, okay, we can go now, wee one."

                England frowned at him, touching his cheek curiously, "Why are your eyes all red?"

                Scotland smiled softly, "Just the trees, don't you worry."

                England looked confused, "What did the trees do?"

                Scotland shook his head, standing with a weak laugh and picking England up at the same time, "Nothing, wee one, let's go play princess and the dragon now, okay?"

                England beamed, "Okay, let's go, big brother!"

~~~~

                England woke up the next day with no memory of what had happened, a headache, and an extremely melancholy Scotland that it had taken three beers, a certain guilty-pleasure Disney movie of Scotland's, and a promise not to make fun of him, to get the truth out of. When he did, England promptly told him to go fuck himself because he was being stupid, and then promptly disregarded that statement in favour of helping him out instead.


	31. Trail of Destruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> North comes to visit, and follows a trail of destruction up to find her brothers...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DO YOU EVER JUST GET IN A MOOD AND YOU'RE JUST LIKE YES! THIS IS A THING I NEED TO WRITE! WELL THIS WAS A THING I NEEDED TO WRITE BECAUSE I'M IN THAT MOOD. You'll know what I mean when you read it...
> 
> Also North is here because I don't write her enough.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

As Northern Ireland pushed open the door to England's home, the first thing she noticed was that it was stuck on something. After pushing it open enough to squeeze through, she realized it was a coat, carelessly slung on the floor, and wedged in the gap between the bottom of the door and the carpet. She tugged it out, with more than a little difficulty, before closing the door and turning to the rest of the mess that surrounded her.

                She counted two shirts, a tie, three socks, and a belt, not to mention the lamp that had been knocked to the floor, and the two picture frames which were crooked.

                It didn't take the proverbial rocket scientist to figure out what had happened.

                She sighed to herself, muttering something along the lines of, "Those randy bastards _knew_ I was coming today," and made her way toward the stairs, where she counted another belt, that last sock, two pairs of trousers, and one pair of pants, before reaching the firmly closed bedroom door.

                She knocked on it loudly a few times, yelling, "Wake up you horny arseholes, I'm coming in and I don't want to see either of your dicks!" waiting a few moments for them to hide said dicks, before pushing the door open and getting an eye-full of arse.

                It was better than a dick, she supposed, but only by a little.

                "Oh, fuck, Scotland, put it away!" she groaned, covering her eyes with her hand, and waving her other vaguely in his direction.

                "You didn't _have_ to barge in here," England replied slightly grouchily, flopping himself over Scotland so that said arse was covered by his torso, making Scotland laugh drowsily into his pillow.

                "You guys _knew_ I was coming today," she protested huffily, still not removing her hand from her eyes, but instead peeking through her fingers, "Could you _not_ have left me a trail of destruction up to your bedroom?"

                England stretched lazily, like a cat who had just woken up from a nap, and North closed her fingers once again to save herself from seeing the hickeys that littered his torso. "It couldn't be helped, my dear," he said with a yawn, "We had a fight last night, and you know what they say about make-up sex."

                Scotland snorted into the pillow, turning his face out of it, "What do they say?"

                There was a sound of rustling as England rolled up the bed to kiss him soundly, North grimacing when she heard the tell-tale smacking sound followed by a low mutter. "Eugh, will you two _not_ do that while I'm in the room?"

                "Can't be helped, sorry Nor," Scotland replied smugly, followed by more kissing noises and low laughter.

                North abruptly turned around, marching out of the room, "I'm making breakfast, if you _have_ to fuck each other, do me the courtesy of being quiet at least."

                England raised an eyebrow at the closed door as Scotland rolled all the way over onto his back, stretching out his limbs. "You really did a number on me last night," he said, groaning against his protesting muscles.

                England turned his gaze appreciatively back to Scotland, who was stretched out from the head of the bed to the foot, his eyes closed in relief. Shit, he was sure the git was doing it on purpose, that smile didn't leave any doubt about it.

                England found himself biting his tongue against a comment and instead chose to roll over, throwing a leg over Scotland's waist and licking a stripe up his neck. "Sorry poppet," he said silkily, making Scotland laugh, "I did try ever so hard to be gentle, but you just kept asking for more."

                Scotland settled his hands on England's hips, titling his head back as England continued to nip at the marks already on his neck, "Did you hear me complaining?"

                England hummed against his throat, biting lightly at his Adam's apple, "No, not at all."

                Scotland huffed out a laugh, reaching up to pry the Englishman from his neck, "You're strangely chipper this morning."

                England just shrugged, "A good shag can do that to a man."

                "Are you all okay though, I really threw you into that table?"

                England smiled softly and leaned up to kiss him, "It will take more than a slightly bruised bum to deter me, poppet." He laughed a little, sitting back, "And I think you more than made up for it, didn't you?"

                Scotland sat up too, kissing at England's shoulder, "I hope so... I really _am_ sorry about that though."

                England stroked a hand through his hair, his brows lowering into a stubborn frown, knowing he wasn't talking about the bruised bum, "It wasn't your fault, I overreacted as usual. I was being a drama queen, I apologize."

                Scotland smiled against the skin of England's shoulder, "Well, I guess we can't complain too much. As much as I hate fighting, I can't fault the make-up sex."

                England kissed him then, deeply but lazily, with slow movements of the lips and easy presses of tongue, his hands slipping up and into Scotland's hair, as Scotland's own rubbed circles in England's hips. Both of them found themselves smiling as the kiss went on, what had been lazy turning giggly and stupid, with less tongue and more teeth, but not in a bad way. They were gentle teeth, smiling teeth, England's arms falling from Scotland's hair and just hanging from his shoulders, as Scotland's reached down to pinch at his behind.

                England laughed into Scotland's mouth, pulling away, "We should go downstairs."

                Scotland whined childishly, "Aw, but I was having so much fun!" he said irritably, pressing kisses along England's jaw.

                England shook his head, "We can have fun when North's not in the house, I don't care so much about scarring Wales, but us having sex is not something North _ever_ needs to hear."

                Scotland snorted, "I'll tell Wales you said that."

                "Go ahead," England shrugged, "You act as if he doesn't already know."

                Scotland rolled his eyes, "You're no fun."

                England kissed him lightly again, "Try me." And then he kicked his leg back and rolled off or the slightly disappointed Scot. "Get up, you lout, North is kind enough to make us breakfast it's the least we can do to..."

                Scotland fell back on the bed, letting out a long sigh. And he'd so hoped he'd get some morning sex...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, did anyone catch the underwear thing? How North only spots one pair? It was subtle, but it's a reference to my H/C that Scotty doesn't wear underwear, because... y'know... kilts.


	32. Sappy Puppy-Dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England had never been much of a fan of soppy puppy-dogs who stared into each other's eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was stressed today and I needed fluff so here ya go.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                England had never been much of a fan of soppy puppy-dogs who stared into each other's eyes like they held the secrets to life's most burning questions. Their faces would go all mushy and soft and the horrendous little sighs they'd let out were quite frankly sickening.

                Yes, we all know you _love_ each other, you don't need to go about shoving it in all of our bloody faces.

                The entire practice of it was completely unnecessary and utterly exhibitionist in his humble opinion. England was absolutely adamant about that.

                Unfortunately, England was also a hypocrite.

                Scotland had _lovely_ eyes... And granted, they were really rather similar to his own, but Scotland just made them look so much better. It was so utterly _easy_ to fall into the trap of staring. They were like bait on a fishing hook, so tempting, so appealing, right _there_ , but as soon as you took it you couldn't let go and then you were at the mercy of those bloody... gorgeous eyes...

                If England were able to let go of his pride long enough to wax poetic about them he'd  probably write something along the lines of the colour being the exact shade of a moor that was being hit by the sunlight from the setting sun on a warm mid-summers evening, but, as much of a hypocrite as he was, he wasn't _quite_ prepared to go off the deep end just yet.

                It was only a matter of time, granted, but not yet.

                Part of him hoped Scotland thought something similar to him, when he stared into England's eyes, just so then he could justify his own (mild) infatuation with Scotland's own.

                It always happened at the most inopportune moments too. Like when they were cooking dinner and passed something between them, their hands would brush and England would look up and he got hooked. Or when they bumped as they passed each other around the house and caught each other's eyes and didn't move for a while. Or while they had their family over for a moment of bonding insisted upon by the PM... (That may or may not have been happening currently).

                It was just so _easy_ to forget there was anyone else there when he got caught in Scotland's eyes.

                "Will you two _please_ stop! You're going to give me cavities, and I want a proper dentist to fix it, so you will be paying!" North griped, not that either England or Scotland paused in their staring to acknowledge her.

                Scotland's lips curled up, his fingers continuing their tracing of his shoulders, pressing their foreheads a little closer together. He let out a breath of laughter, but didn't say anything, and England was prepared to continue their silence. If either of them spoke, they'd be forced to focus on the other's lips instead, and then the other two would have _even more_ to complain about.

                "It's no use, North," Wales replied tiredly, "If you want them to stop you have to physically drag them apart."

                This time it was England's turn to laugh, biting his lip against the exhale.

                "I feel sorry that you have to share an island with these toss-pots," she replied, no doubt rolling her eyes, "Did you want me to help you develop the technology to detach yourself so you can join me and Ireland?"

                Wales sighed a little melodramatically, "No, it's only a matter of time until- uh... I think I'll just float out into the Atlantic."

                England brushed their noses together, drawing absentminded patterns on his thigh, making Scotland's fingers trail up England's neck to twist into his hair.

                "Well, don't go the way of Iceland, poor boy is practically a recluse."

                "I'll have Gwlanog, I'll be fine. We can form an 'Our Brothers Are Too Sickening To Be Around Club' I'm sure I can recruit Italy Romano and Prussia as well. Now that I think about it, we could probably tack on a free membership to an 'Our Brothers Are Better Known Than Us Even Though They're Dickheads' club."

                Scotland's fingers brushed lightly at the hair at the base of his neck, and England reluctantly closed his eyes with a pleased hum.

                "Do you think we could monetize those?"

                "I don't doubt it, I'm sure there are plenty of countries who'd want to join. Canada and Zea would probably be willing to figurehead, for the second one at least."

                "Hmmn, I guess so but- Will you two _stop_!"

                The two of them snorted out laughter, and broke apart from where they'd lazily brought their lips together, Scotland's tongue still sticking out as he bit down on it to stop himself laughing too hard.

                England turned his eyes to her, resting his forehead back against Scotland's, "Oh, let us have our fun North," he said with a roll of the eyes, "Scotland hasn't gotten any real action since the fifteen-hundreds."

                Scotland bit his nose, "I have!" he said a little indignantly.

                "Oh have you?" England raised an eyebrow.

                Scotland leaned over him, an amused scowl on his face, "I _have_."

                England returned his gaze to Scotland's eyes, a different kind if beautiful now that they were hard and challenging. His fingers curled tightly into Scotland's thigh, "Oh, of course pet," he said dryly, "I believe you." He smiled wickedly leaning up to return the bite to Scotland's nose, "You're a positive sex-magnet after all, I mean I can _hardly keep my hands off of y-_."

                "Oh my god _stop it_!"

                Scotland laughed, but leaned in to speak lowly into England's ear, "I'm not done with you."

                England smiled lewdly, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

                "I think I'm going to call up someone about that separation," Wales said coolly, turning his deliberately blank face back to North, "Can you start getting shirts? I think we can turn a decent profit if we start merchandizing. I'll call up Italy Romano, his face is bound to sell..."

                England just turned back to see Scotland look at him with soft amusement, and he was drawn back to Scotland's eyes. _Ahh_ , he had pretty eyes...


	33. Oh Fuck...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England chooses the worst times to get horny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably put a NSFW warning at the beginning of this. Because while they don't actually have sex, England is a nasty bugger when it comes to sexting.
> 
> On a related note... England sexting, amirite?
> 
> On an unrelated note... Oh god, I hate being busy... and not in the "oh I have so much I want to do and there's not possibly enough hours in the day to do it" way, more the "Oh I have so much I want to do but I have to do this other shit instead" way. I'm the latter, in case there was any confusion. I wrote this with my free moment today, so yeah... I just had an intense need for sexting. What can ya do?
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                " _Oh fuck..._ "

                Now, France knew that tone. He knew that tone _all too well_. And so, when he heard that tone coming from where Scotland was waiting in his living room as he was preparing coffee, he couldn't help the wide smirk that played on his lips.

                Breathy and stifled and just a pinch hoarse. Oh yes, Scotland had just encountered something particularly exciting , and France, being the good friend (and shameless gossip) he was, was going to see _exactly_ what it was.

                When he returned to the living room, two cups of (slightly rushed) coffee in hand, Scotland was staring at his phone rather intently, a deep blush having risen on his cheeks that rivalled his hair for brightness. His free hand was over his mouth, and his eyes were wide. _Oh, he's flustered, this is going to be good._

                Scotland frowned, letting go of his mouth to reveal a chewed lip as he typed something into his phone.

                "Sexting this early in the morning?" France chuckled, making Scotland jump practically ten feet into the air. France shook his head amusedly, "Tut, tut, and while you have guests too."

                "Shut up, France," Scotland grumbled, his shoulders coming up to his ears in defensive embarrassment, "It's not me, it's _him_."

                France's grin turned wicked, " _England_ is sexting you?"

                Scotland seemed to realize he'd said something wrong then because he backpedalled quickly, "No! I mean- I shouldn't- he- I- We haven't been able to see each other for a while."

                France handed him the coffee and sat beside him, throwing his legs over Scotland's so he couldn't try to run away from the situation. "It's fine," he said airily, "All is forgiven if you show me."

                "Wha- No!"

                France rolled his eyes, "No one is better at sexting than me, I can promise you, if you give me the reigns we can have him hopping here within minutes."

                "But you're still-"

                France waved his hand dismissively, "My dear, your sex life is more important."

                Before Scotland could even protest again, France had plucked the phone out of his hands, rolled over, pinned Scotland firmly to the sofa with his legs, and held it out of his reach so he could read their conversation.

~~~~

**To: Me**

**From: Fuck the English**

This meeting is boring.

~~~~

**To: Fuck the English**

**From: Me**

You say that every time.

~~~~

**To: Me**

**From: Fuck the English**

The only thing keeping me sane is the thought of your cock in my mouth.

~~~~

                France grinned, _ah, here we are._ It seemed England didn't wait around and drop hints when sexting, which was something France could certainly work with.

                Ignoring Scotland's fruitless grabs for the phone, France continued reading.

~~~~

**To: Me**

**From: Fuck the English**

Do you think parliament would notice if I sucked you off during a session?

~~~~

**To: Me**

**From: Fuck the English**

I can already see you biting your hand, trying to keep from calling my name out for everyone to hear. Mm, but I'd want you to call out because your voice is almost as delicious as your cock.

~~~~

**To: Fuck the English**

**From: Me**

England, I have company.

~~~~

**To: Me**

**From: Fuck the English**

So do I. But I'm still thinking about how deep I'd take you. You must remember how inactive my gag reflex has gotten.

~~~~

**To: Me**

**From: Fuck the English**

I'm thinking about how I'd lick your dick like a lolly. But it would be better because I'd get to see your face go red and your breath get sharp, and I'd get to taste your cum as it shoots down my throat.

~~~~

                France grinned wider, he always knew England was a nasty old pervert, but this was all the proof he needed. _Haha!_ No longer could he claim France was a perverted frog, because he was just as bad!

                Either way, it seemed England was waiting for a reply, and now it was France's time to shine.

~~~~

**To: Fuck the English**

**From: Me**

England, I hope you know my company is France. And that being horny around him is a bad idea.

~~~~

                Now, France would never dream of trying something with a taken man, that was disgusting and unforgivable, but England never tended to think that highly of him, so if _that_ didn't get England over here then he didn't know what would.

~~~~

**To: Me**

**From: Fuck the English**

I'm sure you'll be able to control yourself. Besides, if I can keep myself from wanking myself off in the middle of this meeting then you can keep France off your dick.

~~~~

**To: Me**

**From: Fuck the English**

Although if you wanted to wank yourself off, I wouldn't be opposed.

~~~~

**To: Me**

**From: Fuck the English**

Just send pictures. I want to horrify the bastards behind me.

~~~~

                Okay, the direct approach it is.

~~~~

**To: Fuck the English**

**From: Me**

Do you want me to fuck your mouth or not?

~~~~

**To: Me**

**From: Fuck the English**

Are you implying that I waste precious energy hopping all the way to Scotland just to give you a BJ?

~~~~

**To: Fuck the English**

**From: me**

Yes. Limited time offer.

~~~~

**To: Me**

**From: Fuck the English**

Give me a moment.

~~~~

                "France!" Scotland growled, "What are you sending him?"

                France just smiled back at him innocently, "Oh, nothing too terrible," He chuckled, "But I feel like he might just be considering his options."

                "Fra-"

                "Just you wait and see," France interrupted quickly, turning back away from him to continue looking through his phone, "You shouldn't have to wait long."

                Scotland slumped back against the chair dejectedly, the only protest he offered was an almost inaudible grumble of "'S the last fuckin' time I'm inviting _you_ over."

                It took a few minutes, but eventually there was a loud crack, the tell-tale sign of a nation-hop, signalling the arrival of England with a yell of, "France get the fuck out of here!"

                France smirked, tossing the phone back to the gaping Scotland, and climbing gracefully off of him. He chanced a final glance back at Scotland, whose look of awe had turned into something wide and predatory, making France wink at him with a smirk before turning back around. He flitted into the hall where England stood with a red tint to his cheeks and messier hair than usual. He blew the Englishman a kiss as he wandered past, "Have fun, chouchou."

                England glared at him until he was out of the door, at which point France decided it probably wouldn't hurt matters to see how they were doing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side Note: Should I up the rating for this story? I feel like some of these chapters get pretty racy, especially this one.


	34. Wales Finds Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just read the notes TBH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't posted a chapter in like a month... 
> 
> Anyway, this chapter happens between 'Downpour' and the first chapter of IITB. I feel like some of it conflicts with what I wrote back then, but honestly, my ideas and headcanons for these situations and characters have evolved so much since then that that stuff hardly seems canon for this universe anyway... But I digress, consider this chapter 0.5... but 34 chapters in...
> 
> It's also kinda-sorta based on this post: http://aphhotie.tumblr.com/post/130772336327/otpprompts-imagine-that-your-otp-is-in-a-secret but not really...
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                Wales was suspicious. Not in a 'they're doing something bad and I'm going to stop them' kind of way, more in a 'They're doing something I don't know about and I want to know what it is' kind of way.

                The secretive little conversations they were trying so hard to hide was his first clue. Simply perhaps because Scotland and England weren't the kind of people to drag each other into lonely rooms without express reason to do so. If Wales had been able to hear more than muttering then maybe he'd have more of a clue, but they always spoke so low and had their faces so close together that there was no way an outside observer would be able to listen in without being seen.

                He'd even considered using magic to be able to hear what they were saying after the third time he'd come across them hiding in a room together talking all secretively. Next time he was going to confront them or something, because it was _getting_ to him.

                His second clue were those... _glances_. Small, and almost invisible to someone who wasn't looking for them, but after the first time Wales had noticed they'd become more obvious than the clouds in the sky. They were never just one thing either, they were a mixture of things, doubt and uncertainty sometimes, amusement and sarcasm others, and sometimes he couldn't even work out what the looks were supposed to convey. If England and Scotland's behaviour turned out to be the end of him, he honestly wouldn't be surprised.

                The third and final clue, and perhaps this was the most damning, was that Scotland seemed... _comfortable_... happy even, in England's house. Not once had he made his usual complaint about how they should get together in _his_ house for a change. Not _once_.

                Quite frankly, Wales was about to rip his hair out.

                North seemed to be finding it amusing, however, Wales' utter frustration.

                "Sweetie, let it go, whatever it is they'll tell us in their own time." She cooed softly, standing on her tip-toes and ruffling his hair, to which Wales swatted her away.

                "I don't want to wait for them to tell us, I want to know what's going on!" Wales whined, and he would normally have hated how childish he sounded, but at that moment he was too worked up to care.

                North rolled her eyes, "Go and make yourself some tea or something, you're all jittery."

                Wales huffed out a breath petulantly, but did as she said, heading toward the kitchen with slightly more tension in his step than allowed him to look natural while doing so.

                He didn't like being out of the loop, especially where his fellow Brits were concerned. Honestly he felt like he might as well just float off into the Atlantic what with how they treated him half the time. He was sure they wouldn't notice for a good while anyway. Maybe he should just take a leaf out of Ireland's book... no, that was a shit idea. Time to file it away with the other shit ideas like 'floating off into the Atlantic' or 'magically amplifying his brothers' conversations'. He claimed to be the 'smart one' but the more he thought about it he was probably just the 'slightly mad one'. Next thing he knew he'd be staring up a lab and artificially creating new breeds of dragon. That's the way he was headed right now, but with any luck he just needed to know what was going on and-

                Oh...

                Oh, okay, he understood now.

                England and Scotland were snogging. Not in a 'I'm going to eat your face' kind of way, more in a 'I want to hold you close and keep you forever' kind of way.

                Wales felt a soft smile come to his face in understanding, the tension in his body melting away as the mystery solved itself in half a split second. They weren't planning something, they didn't have a secret agenda, nothing massive was in the works without Wales' knowledge, they were just in love and didn't want everyone to know about it yet. It was almost sweet when he thought about it.

                "You know," he said, making the two of them break apart in a panic, looking at him as if he were about to gut them alive. He shook his head in amusement, "Oh don't give me that, I was just going to say you've had be worried sick over nothing all day."

                The two of them, still clinging to each other as they had been a moment before, and Wales couldn't help but notice the comfortable way they curved into each other, still stared at him, like the proverbial deer in headlights. He felt a wave of sympathy for them, and he simply shook his head, turning around and walking from the room, "I'll leave you two to it, you can tell me in your own time. Consider this forgotten."

                He barely made it two steps before he felt a hand on each of his shoulders. He turned, to see England and Scotland standing worriedly behind him. "You won't..." England began, and although he couldn't seem to find the words, the look in his eyes spoke for him.

                Wales shook his head, "I won't tell a soul, I expect you to tell North soon though, the longer you wait the madder she'll be that you kept her out of the loop." And then he smiled, both of the hands falling from his shoulders, and walked back to the living room without his tea.

                Little did he know that wouldn't be the _only_ time he walked in on them snogging, but hindsight is 20/20 as they say...


	35. North Knows Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another prequel chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo Hoo! This is another prequel chapter, I wrote how North found out because reasons (and I saw a tumblr post which inspired me.) I like the idea that they never actually told anyone about them, they all just sort of found out because England and Scotland are the least subtle people when it comes to PDA. So anyway, this is chapter... 0.75 I guess. 
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

            “England! We have no milk!”

            “Well go and buy some then!”

            “Only if you let me use your car!”

            “Only if you agree not to crash it!”

            North stuck her head through the living room door, rolling her eyes, “Of course I won’t crash it, I’m only going ten minutes down the road.”

            England chuckled, looking up from his book, “The keys are on the kitchen counter,”

            North nodded, darting out the door, as England called after her, “Take the mini!”

            With a sense of disappointment that she wouldn’t be able to get away with using one of England’s fancy cars, North grabbed the keys and headed for the garage.

She was halfway down the drive before she remembered she’d forgotten to bring her purse, or anything to pay for the milk with. After digging through England’s glove box and finding nothing other than a packet of jelly babies and a box of condoms (which she replaced hastily, not wanting to know what England had been doing in the seat she was currently sitting in), she decided that she would have to go back to the house to get it, because neither the jelly babies or condoms would buy her milk. Nor would flirting, much to her chagrin. She missed the days when a bat of the eyelashes and an air of friendliness would buy you small conveniences.

            When she reached the living room, where her bag was located, she stopped in her tracks.

“Huh,” she said curiously, raising her eyebrows at the scene before her, “I always figured Scotland would be on top.”

            They froze in their actions, Scotland whipping around from where he was straddling England’s lap, the latter’s hands still firmly on the former’s arse in surprise.

            “How do you know I’m  _not_ on top?” He demanded, making England snort out a laugh.

            North raised an eyebrow, “Because someone who’s on top isn’t  _quite_ so keen to rub his arse against another man’s dick.”

            “She has a point.”

            “Shut up, you.” Scotland snapped back at England, returning his gaze to North. But even as he denied it he kept them in the same position, his arms around England’s neck, and his legs around England’s thighs, their bodies curved into each other. North held back a chuckle.

            “Hey, I don’t want to know about your love-lives,” she said, trotting into the room with her hands raised, “I forgot my bag, it’s not my fault you guys couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to prevent me catching you.” She chuckled, picking her bag up and returning to the door, “Although I’m hurt that I had to find out this way,” She pouted, “I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me.”

            “I told you Wales had a point.”

            “And  _I_ told  _you_ to shut up.”

            Scotland’s face was a rather funny shade of red, all the way up to his ears. North found it hard to concentrate on that, however, as she instead focused on what England had said, “Wait, _Wales_ knows, and you didn’t tell  _me_?”

            England shook his head, “He caught us a couple of weeks ago, when you two were over. He said he’d wait until we were ready before he acknowledged that he knew.”

            North pouted, “Oh, I suppose that’s okay then.” She sighed, turning back around to leave, “I’m going to get milk for real this time, if you insist on fucking while I’m gone I don’t want to be able to tell when I get back.”

            And then she walked out the door quickly without letting either of them reply, wondering if perhaps she should fish back around in the glove box and provide them with condoms. And then deciding that they could live without them, just like she could live without those mental images.


	36. Ireland's Wacky Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the prequel chapters. I promise. Regular programming with resume next chapter. Either way, here's chapter 0.875.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                Ireland was exhausted. Perhaps that was the wrong word for it, but he was too worn out to bother trying to find another word. This exhaustion was the reason he was left as the last person in the meeting room, the last country letting the door click shut behind them as they left him alone in the room.

                He sighed deeply, pushing himself up from his desk and sluggishly collecting his things. Part way through his task, though, a phone buzzed on the table. A phone that wasn't his.

                He wandered over to it, picking it up and frowning at the message on the screen.

~~~~

**From: Scotland**

**To: Me**

Is your meeting over yet?

~~~~

                Ireland frowned at it, assuming the phone belonged to England, judging by the picture of him, Canada and America, the former two looking less than pleased at being squeezed into the shot, as his background. He vaguely remembered England complaining about it, but he'd never changed it. He shook his head, shrugging to himself, he was too tired to care why Scotland cared if the meeting was over. He probably had some work or something he needed England's help with or-

                The phone buzzed again.

~~~~

**From: Scotland**

**To: Me**

Call me when it is. I miss you.

~~~~

                Ok, _now_ he cared.

                Why the fuck did Scotland miss him? Was he sick? Imprisoned? Brainwashed?

                Oh god! England had finally succeeded in brainwashing them! Thank god he had gotten out when he did! Who knows, it could have been him who had been England's guinea pig- Holy shit, wait! What if he got to North! That bastard wouldn't dare!

                His over-tired paranoia was interrupted as England walked back into the room, spying Ireland with his phone and sighing in relief, "Oh Ireland, thanks mate, I thought I'd lost it."

                Ireland composed himself as best he could, clearing his throat and holding out the phone so England could see the messages. "What does this mean?" he asked accusingly.

                England's eyes widened minutely for a moment, before he too put up an act of false composure. "None of your business is what it is Paddy." He replied haughtily, swiping the phone out of his hand with an irritated mutter of what sounded like, "Goddamn it  Scotland."

                "You brainwashing our siblings in plenty my business, England!" he snapped back, making England blink at him in horrified surprise.

                "Brainwashing?"

                "Yeah, why the fuck else would Scotland miss you?"

                England blinked slowly, "The first answer you came to was _brainwashing_?"

                Ireland nodded determinately, "Granted I haven't slept more than four hours in as many days but I still know brainwashing when I see it!"

                England pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing out a chuckle, "North hasn't told you yet then?"

                Ireland frowned in confusion. "Told me what?"

                "Scotland and I are dating," England laughed, making Ireland look only even more confused, "We have been since February. I suppose it's about time you knew."

                Ireland stared blankly at a wall, "You and Scotty?"

                England nodded.

                "Are..." he made a vaguely lewd hand gesture.

                England rolled his eyes, "Yes."

                Ireland pushed past him, "If you'll excuse me, I need a nap. And when I wake up this can all be a strange dream we can laugh about later."

                England laughed as Ireland pushed dazedly out of the door, unlocking his phone and calling Scotland as he strode out of the room, toward the car park rather than the hotel rooms. He picked up after two rings.

                " _Hey, is the meeting over?_ "

                England smiled, "Hey love, yes it is. I'm going to head home now, I should be back by nine."

                " _Sounds great. I really hate it when you're away for this long. Not only do I have to pick up your slack, I only have my poor hand for company._ "

                "I'm sorry, poppet." He simpered sarcastically, before perking up, "Oh, hey, that reminds me, if Ireland calls you later, just tell him 'it wasn't a dream'."

                " _Do I want to know what you're talking about?_ "

                England chuckled, "I'll explain when I get home. Order dinner."

                " _Alright, I'll let you go. Love you._ "

                "I love you too."

                When Ireland woke up later that night and called England, he was unhappy to find out that it wasn't all a wacky dream, it was his fucking family being wacky in real life... again. He just wanted a simple life... unfortunately his family seemed intent on throwing him metaphorical curveballs at every turn. He promptly fell back asleep, resolving to never leave his part of his island again.


	37. Nope!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is shit. It's not good. It's trash, but it's trash I need rn bc I've lost control of my life and I just need to de-stress.
> 
> So here, have some stress-relief trash with the boys being pissbabies about spiders.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                "Nope! Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope!"

                England looked up curiously at the direction the quite frankly frantic yelling was coming from, setting his book down on his knees.

                Scotland entered the room a few moments later, shaking his head vigorously, his hands curling and uncurling in disgust. "Nope, not my house, not my problem. You deal with it."

                England raised an eyebrow suspiciously, "Deal with what?"

                "The fucking massive spider in the cutlery drawer." Scotland replied simply.

                "What? No way! I'm not dealing with that shit! _You_ deal with it!" England replied, curling up defensively on the couch, "Go on, deal with it yourself."

                Scotland shook his head once again, "Not a chance."

                " _Scotland_!"

                "Nope, like I said, not my house, not my problem."

                England licked his lips, frowning in thought, before an idea hit him and he perked up, "I'll let you top for a month."

                Scotland seemed to consider that with interest, but still shook his head, "I don't mind bottoming, you'll have to do better than that."

                "You can tie me up."

                "Nope."

                "Gag me."

                England smiled as Scotland hesitated over his answer. "No way."

                "You can go bare-back."

                "I..."

                "I'll call you Big Brother."

                Scotland grit his teeth, grimacing deeply, and England's smile only widened. "I don't-"

                "Picture it. Me, bound and gagged, still hard and desperate, moaning for you, Big Brother, legs spread for you and your cum dripping out my arse..."

                Scotland let out a pained breath, " _Fine._ "

                England almost laughed in triumph.

                "But youhave to at least come with me for moral support!" Scotland said, before England could get too happy.

                " _Fine_."

~~~~

                "Holy fuck, it's massive!"

                "I know! That's why I didn't want to deal with it in the first place!"

                England patted Scotland reassuringly on the shoulder, peering over him to see the fuck-off great spider sitting happily on top of his forks. "Well, old chap, just think of the rewards!"

                Scotland scowled at him, "Trust me, by the end of this month you aren't going to know how to cum without my dick in your arse."

                England shivered slightly, slipping his hands into Scotland's back pockets and squeezing, "The quicker you get rid of the spider, the quicker we can get to just that."

                Scotland took a deep breath, before slamming the cup in his hand down blindly over where the spider was, trapping it's legs under the side, and making it thrash around wildly. Both nations made thoroughly ridiculous noises (the kind of noises that would get them ridiculed by their peers for a good long time), jumping away from the glass and the spider, and knocking both of them to the ground in the process.

                This resulted in them both screaming again, and Scotland stomping randomly around the floor in the hopes he'd kill the eight-legged demon. And sure, he cut his foot on the glass in the process, but he also killed the spider, so it could have gone worse.

~~~~

                As England finished up cleaning and bandaging Scotland's foot, having spent ten minutes picking pieces of glass out of his cuts (and discarding a sock covered in blood and dead spider) he pressed a kiss to Scotland's knee, "Mmn, there, all better. Can you walk on it?"

                Scotland wiggled his toes, grimacing, "It shouldn't take too long to heal, but not right now, no."

                England stood up, sliding forward onto Scotland's lap, and wrapping his arms around his neck. "That's okay," he said, peppering kisses along Scotland's jaw. "My handsome, brave Scotsman. How noble you are, injuring yourself while saving me from a horrid beast."

                Scotland chuckled, pulling him up into a proper kiss. Well, one kiss usually leads to another, and this one was no exception, so kiss turned to kisses rather quickly. "That's me," he murmured between presses of lips, "Anything for my damsel in distress."

                England hummed happily, twisting his head so he could kiss him deeper, gripping his clothes tightly in his fists. Scotland seemed to see no reason not to reciprocate just as enthusiastically.

                After several minutes of this, they broke apart, England glancing up at the clock as he caught his breath, "Your month starts now, I suggest you take advantage of it."

                Scotland smirked, wriggling his toes and finding the pain dulled enough that he felt confident walking on it. "Well get off me and get yourself ready then, I have some things I need to get."

                England smiled back, his eyes lidded, and got off him, "Of course, Scotland."

                England made to leave the room, but Scotland stood and held him back, leaning down to press his lips to England's ear.

                "Oh, and England," he murmured, making the Englishman shiver, "Call me Big Brother."


	38. Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vagueness is vague. Sorry not sorry bro. These were the feels I had today.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                "England?"

                England hadn't expected to hear that voice in person for another few days, and especially not after the tell-tale crack of a nation hop to his home. What was more disconcerting than either of those two facts, though, was the weak and almost scared voice it was said with.

                He didn't have a chance to make it into the hall before there was a figure in front of him. And then he didn't have a chance to say anything before lips were on his own. And after that he couldn't bring himself to do anything but cup the face of the man in front of him and reply in kind. 

                The lips under his own were trembling, the breaths that were taken hitching, and the cheeks his fingers caressed damp with tears. After a few of these kisses, England pulled himself away, worriedly trying to catch Scotland's eye.

                "Scotland, love, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

                Scotland nodded, his eyes squeezed tight shut as his breath continued to come out in deep hitches. "It's nothing, I'm stupid," He choked, bringing his arms up to cup England's neck, pressing their foreheads together, "I just- I love you, okay?"

                England nodded back, "Yes, yes, poppet, I know. I love you too." He said, his frown deepening in worry. "But-"

                Scotland kissed him again, his hands holding him like vices, as if at any moment he could be caught up in a breeze and drift away if not held on to. The feeling of worry grew, England unsure of what it was that caused Scotland to work himself into such a tizzy, but sure that it was deserving if past experience was anything to go by. He indulged him for a moment, before once again pulling back, " _Please,_ tell me what's wrong."

                Scotland shook his head, "It was just a dream, just... a dream..."

                And England knew he was talking to himself, but he could glean enough that he leaned forward to kiss him gently again, "Whatever happened. It's not real."

                Scotland nodded, his face screwing up again, "I know, I know, it was just a dream... but it felt so real and you... fuck." He swallowed thickly. "Just promise me you love me. I don't care if it's true, just tell me, 'cause I-"

                "Scotland, you _know_ I love you!" England protested, lifting Scotland's head even though his eyes remained screwed closed. "I love you so much. So, so much. What makes you doubt that?"

                "Nothing. I'm stupid." Scotland repeated.

                "It's neither of those things. Tell me."

                Scotland gritted his teeth, "It's just old insecurities, I... fuck, just ignore me. Pretend this didn't happen."

                England sighed, looking Scotland's face over sadly, "Scotland, love. If you can look me in the eye and say that again, then I'll do as you say. I promise."

                Scotland took a deep breath, opening his eyes to meet England's directly, red around the edges and vulnerable, but determined, "I mean it, it's nothing. Please, just, can we go to bed? I'm so tired."

                England nodded, keeping his word and his mouth shut. He lead Scotland to bed, only noticing now how he was wearing nothing but his boxers. He didn't bother to change, simply slipping into bed with him in his clothes and holding him to his chest, he didn't let himself fall asleep until he was sure he heard Scotland's snores.

~~~~

                The next morning it wasn't mentioned. Scotland stayed for breakfast, but had to hop back home soon afterwards. England hopped up to Scotland's Edinburgh home by midday. By mid-afternoon Scotland was ignoring his work. And by evening, nothing had gotten done and nothing mattered. Not when they were curled up together, every part of them tangled up, breathing out "I love you"'s whenever they exhaled, even if not all of them were out loud. They didn't need to be.


	39. Final Verdict: Fucking Pointless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't ask me what this is, because not even I know.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                "Oh my god! I swear you two couldn't keep it in your pants for five minutes if you had fucking money on it!

                A harmless enough phrase to be sure, but little did Wales know the consequences that his outburst will have wrought.

                The bet was as follows: No kissing, no 'inappropriate' touching, no heavy petting, and most importantly of all, no sex of _any kind._ The first one to cave and do any of those things to the other loses.

                The prize? Well, that was to be decided by the winner.

                So naturally, it was each of their plans to make the other as sexually frustrated as _possible_. 

~~~~

                "Scotland, it's November, why are you not wearing a shirt?"

                He'd been parading his naked torso around for the better part of an hour, and England had to repeatedly keep himself from staring. It wouldn't be a problem if he wasn't so fucking _fit_ , nor would it be a problem if he'd recently gotten to feel him up, but as it stood...

                "Oh, I'm sorry England," Scotland replied innocently, "All of my shirts are in the laundry, it can't be helped."

                "Oh, _can't it_?"

                Scotland shook his head, stretching his arms above his head, his spine curving _deliciously_. "'Fraid not, I'm going to work out soon though, so it's not too much trouble."

                Naked England could do. Naked and sweaty and showing off his muscles England could not.

                "You're welcome to watch, if you want."

                Fuck.

**Scotland: 1 / England: 0**

~~~~

                "Good afternoon, _big brother_ ~"

                Oh the smug brat _wasn't_.

                "What did you want England?"

                England appeared beside him, a sweet smile on his face, "Oh nothing, _big brother_ , I just made you some tea." He held out a mug, biting his lip, and Scotland silently berated his penis for becoming intrigued. "A dash of milk and a shot of whiskey, just how you like it, _big brother_."

                This was kink exploitation! And should definitely have been against the rules!

                "Don't you want it, _big brother_?"

                Fuck.

**Scotland: 1 / England: 1**

~~~~

                The lolly was completely cliché. Cliché and unoriginal and thoroughly uninspired. So why the fuck was it _working_?!

                Scotland licked a stripe up the ice lolly, collecting the stray drips with his tongue. Sucking and licking and being a _fucking tease_!

                "Is there any need to be quite so uncouth with that?"

                Scotland looked up at him, sucking the lolly out of his mouth, it leaving his lips with a satisfying pop. "What do you mean?"

                "You _know_ what I mean, Scotland."

                "What, no big brother?"

                England's gaze turned sultry, "Only if that means you'll stop servicing the lolly and service _me_ instead."

                Scotland smirked, taking a huge bite out of the frozen confection, "You _wish_."

                Fuck.

**Scotland: 2 / England: 1**

~~~~

                There were moans coming from the shower. Loud ones. And even though Scotland knew it was just a show, little Scotland seemed to be a little more gullible.

                "England, stop wanking and let me in!" He growled, hating that they'd decided that England's tiny London flat with only a single bathroom was the place they were staying for the duration of the bet.

                The answer was another moan, followed by a cooed "Naughty big brother, "

                Little Scotland was a traitor.

                "Oh _yes_ , big brother, you're so _good_!"

                Fuck.

**Scotland: 2 / England: 2**

~~~~

                Okay, the shower was one thing. But their living room was another. And don't get him wrong, he caught England masturbating _a lot_ , but never before had he ever had to restrain himself from helping out, and it was fucking _torture_.

                He stalked up behind England, who seemed otherwise unconcerned by Scotland's presence, leaning down to  growl in his ear, "You're a conniving little minx. Fucking slut trying to get me to fuck you like the whore you are."

                England moaned, huffing out a hot breath and leaning his head back against the sofa.

                "Bet you'd like it if I grabbed your filthy little hand and stopped you," he continued, licking his lips, "Kept you waiting to cum until I told you you could. Filthy little cock-slut, if you wanted my dick so badly you could have just got down on your knees and _begged_."

                England's eyes fluttered oven, and oh god, he _moaned_. Scotland found it hard to think of a moment when he'd wanted to fuck the smarmy dickhead more. And then England closed his eyes again, whining out a loud, "Oh _please_ , big brother!"

                Fuck England and his fucking sexy noises and his kink exploitation! Scotland wasn't fucking having it! Not this time.

                Fuck.

**Scotland: 2 / England: 3**

~~~~

                England had to reluctantly admit that the dirty talk had got him off. Scotland was just too fucking good at it, and his voice was so husky and smooth and...

                _Fuck._

**Scotland: 3 / England: 3**

~~~~

                Fucking leather. He was wearing leather and piercings and his hair was fucking tousled. Fuck.

                England just stared. This bet was shit, he'd never get Scotland to do this _ever_ , trust him to give up his dignity when a bet was on the line. Fucking, conniving, sexy bastard...

                "What do you think, England?" Scotland grinned, jutting out a hip as he leant against the door frame.

                But England had more control than _that_. He turned his nose up with a huff, "I think that you look like the gayest thing in the room."

                England missed Scotland's smirk, "Well you obviously haven't seen yourself."

                Fuck.

**Scotland: 4 / England: 3**

~~~~

                _Oh_ , so England was going the jealousy approach, was he? Well, we'd see about that!

                Jealousy was just cheap. He wouldn't let it get to him. Oh no! He'd just ignore it.

                "Are you doing alright there, Scotland? I can hear your teeth grinding from here." Belgium asked amusedly.

                "Fine, just great thanks." He replied tensely, and marched past England and Belgium, sat a little too closely on the couch as they were, whispering something into each other's ears and _giggling_ and exchanging little glances and-

                Argh!

                FUCK!  

**Scotland: 4 / England: 4**

~~~~

                "I personally think you're both being idiots, if you're so frustrated then just fuck each other."

                "North, you are the opposite of helpful."

                "No, Scotty, I'm just being realistic, you're both tense as shit, this is becoming an issue. Frankly I'm considering spiking the two of you with a strong aphrodisiac and letting you get it all out."

                " _North_."

                "I'm not kidding, the tension is worse than when you had your independence vote. Just fuck him and let him have his way with you for a night or two. I don't see what the problem is."

                Scotland huffed out a breath. She was probably right.

                Fuck.

**Scotland: 4 / England: 4 / North: 1**

~~~~

                Scotland slammed a hand down in front of England's path, boxing him in against the wall.

                " _Cave_."

                England just snarled in response, " _No_."

                "Fucking kiss me and end this shit!"

                "You do it if you're so desperate!"

                "I _said_ , kiss me!"

                "And I said no!"

                The two stared each other down for a moment, sucking in deep, slow breaths.

                And then they were kissing, and they weren't really sure which one of them did it but who the fuck cared.

                Not fucking them!

**Final Verdict: Fucking pointless. _(But kind of amusing)_**

(Final Verdict kindly provided by Wales, with notes by Northern Ireland)


	40. You Didn't Tell Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote forty of these things what??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a hella long, overly-dramatic, and kinda shit celebration chapter because not only did we just hit 40 chapters, but 40,000 words, and 100 pages on word. I myself am feeling quite accomplished. (I mean most people would celebrate at fifty, but I do not conform to societal expectations!) 
> 
> This was inspired by the many dramatic af movie soundtracks I've been listening to recently and I literally have not read this without a dramatic movie soundtrack of some kind in the background to set the mood, so I'd recommend doing that I guess. (Which one? IDK all of them. I seriously dunno). Also I just kinda wanted to write a proper BIG fight between the boys y'know? Eh, maybe not. 
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

                England was stopped in his tracks by an arm slamming into the wall in front of his face. He stopped, grimacing distastefully, but not looking up from his papers.

                "You didn't tell me you were coming to Edinburgh."

                England simply huffed at the statement, ducking under the arm and continuing on his way. He could feel Scotland follow behind him though, just as he could feel the irritation radiating off of him.

                "It didn't seem important to mention." He replied, flipping a page over, but not really reading what was on it, hyper focused as he was on the man stalking along behind him.

                "No? Didn't think the country you're coming to should know you're here? I had to find out from my secretary, when she asked why you hadn't come to visit yet."

                England grit his teeth, doing his best not to growl, "Well, frankly your secretary should have let you know I was coming regardless."

                "That's not the point, England."

                England stopped and turned around, crossing his arms over his chest and sending his deepest scowl at the other nation, "Frankly, Scotland, I couldn't give less of a shit."

                "Well, learn to." Scotland snarled in response, "You're so fucking childish! Why the fuck won't you just have a conversation with me?"

                "Because you don't deserve my time!" England snapped back, baring his teeth through a grimace, "Frankly it's a miracle I'm giving you the time of fucking day to come up here at all, so just leave me alone so I can do my job and then we don't have to look at each other again until parliament drags you down to London."

                England turned around, but was stopped by a hand grabbing his shoulder, which was caught and twisted painfully before it could do anything more than that. Scotland winced in pain, but didn't indicate anything more than that, "Just tell me what the fuck I did!"

                England dropped his arm in disgust, "If it really mattered to you, you'd have already worked it out."

                Scotland growled once again, following England down the hall as he took off again. "Well, let's imagine for a moment that I'm dumb as shit and have no idea what you're talking about."

                "Who needs to imagine," England spat bitterly, "The proof is right in front of my eyes."

                "Just fucking tell me!" Scotland yelled, not caring about all of the attention they'd drawn as much as finding out what had made England refuse to speak with him for a solid two months.

                "The sword Scotland!" England yelled back, even louder if that was possible, spinning around and nearly making Scotland slam directly into him. The disgusted grimace appeared back on his face, and he snarled dangerously. "The sword I was given by Elizabeth! The one she knighted me with! The one that every monarch _except_ my current one since has knighted me with! The one which I thought I'd lost in the forties during the raids! And the one that you swore in no uncertain terms you had not seen! Ring any bells? It should, because it's been in _your_ house this entire fucking time!"

                What sword? Wh- _Oh fuck_...

                Scotland's eyes widened. The sword. Oh fuck _the sword_!

                "England, I-"

                "No, shut up! I don't want to hear it! You _know_ how much that sword means to me! For seventy _fucking_ years you let me believe that Germany had blown it to smithereens in the raids, and it was sitting up in your attic under a box full of shit!"

                He pushed Scotland away, turning around, before spitting, "Don't try to explain yourself I don't care," with nothing but acidity back at him.

                "England, _please_ , Just-"

                "I _said,_ leave me the fuck alone, I don't want to talk to you."

                When England walked out of there, Scotland didn't follow, but he did manage to spit a venomous "What the fuck are you lot all gawking at?" at the bystanders, before returning to his office, devastated.

                He'd fucked up.

                Oh god had he fucked up.

~~~~

                North watched England slam the door to his library closed, having come downstairs at the sound of a nation hop. She cautiously followed him into the room, closing the door behind herself and wandering cautiously over to where the back of England's head stuck up over the back of his chair.

                "England, sweetheart, are you okay?" She asked, peering around the chair, her eyes widening in horror as she spotted the gritted teeth and tear tracks. "Oh my god! What happened?"

                England shook his head, sucking in a wobbling breath. "I fucking hate him." He said  pulling his legs up to his chest, "I trusted him, fuck, how could he?"

                "Is this about Scotland still?" North asked. She'd heard England wasn't speaking to Scotland from the Northerner himself, but every time she tried to get anything out of England he simply said it was a personal matter. But never had he cried.  Oh god, England crying was fucking terrifying.

                England nodded, staring blankly into the unlit fireplace in front of him. North clicked her fingers, lighting it so as to better see England's face. The change seemed to be enough to snap him back to reality a little, making him choke out a small nose, "Just leave me be, North, you don't need to see me like this."

                She shook her head, "Not a chance, I've sobbed at you before, it's only right you return the favour. Tell me what's wrong."

                That seemed to be enough for England because a few moment later, he started talking. "It's nothing. It's fucking nothing in the grand scheme of things but for some reason it means everything and I don't know why but it feel like he's betrayed me on some deep level and I-" He rubbed at his cheeks, " _Seventy years_ , how could he? I saw it in his eyes, he _knew_ it was there, and yet he never told me."

                "Have you let him explain himself?" North asked.

                England shook his head, "He tried, I mean, I was going to but, I couldn't- He spoke and I just couldn't believe anything he said, even before he'd said it."

                Behind her back, North drew a summoning rune in the air, sending it to Wales and hoping he was in a position to join them. Wales was who England needed right now, and North knew that perfectly well, he needed someone who understood him better than North did. Because while North was his sister, she was younger, and she'd never seen this. She didn't know how to handle him when he was like this, because he'd never let her see him like this. Wales had, Wales would.

                North didn't even have time to reply to England's statement, before a crack sounded behind her. Wales, patted her on the shoulder and smiled reassuringly before walking around the couch and crouching in front of England. He reached up and cupped his brother's face, "Hey, you little crybaby, what's got you all in a tizzy?"

                North backed out of the room, as England explained himself again, closing the door softly.

                And then she hopped to Scotland.

                That shithead had some explaining to do!

~~~~

                As soon as North arrived, she was summoned to the living room by a slightly slurred voice.

                As she entered, she saw Scotland laying back on the couch whiskey in hand, the TV playing silently to itself and the curtains drawn. "I fucked up, North," Scotland said, staring blankly at the ceiling.

                "England is in tears, y'know?" North replied tersely.

                Scotland grimaced, choking out a weak sob, "I know, I fucked up. I really fucking fucked up."

                And with that, all of North's will to be angry disappeared. "What happened?"

                "I took his sword. I took it up to Scotland to keep it safe, and I told him it was gone so he wouldn't come looking for it and take it back to London, and then I forgot about it because I'm fucking stupid, and now England's found it and he thinks I took it, and he hates my fucking guts." Scotland rambled his voice cracking every few words with drunken emotion, taking a deep swig from his bottle, "He won't even hear me out, and even if he let me speak he probably wouldn't believe me. I fucking love him so much but he won't even look me in the eyes because I fucked up so bad. I miss him, North, he hasn't so much as looked my way for two months and I want to hug him and kiss him and make love to him and I-" He choked off in a sob.

                North hurried over to him, plucking the liquor from his hands, and brushing a hand through his tangled hair. "Hush, hush, darlin'," She cooed, kneeling at his side, "Calm down and sober up, and then we'll work out a plan to get England to listen to you, I'm sure if he just hears what you have to say, he'll believe you. He loves you too Scotland, that's why he's so hurt by this."

                Scotland swallowed thickly, "You think so?"

                She nodded, smiling gently, "Of course. Now sleep this off, I'm going to get started on a plan to get England to listen to you."

                Scotland smiled back, "Thank you!"

                "You're welcome bab," she said, kissing his forehead as he closed his eyes.

                She sighed heavily. Her family was fucked up, but as perhaps the only partially sane member of the family, it was her job to keep it functional, and by god was she going to do it!

~~~~

                "Stop biting your lips, they'll get sore." Wales scolded, frowning at her before pressing his ear back against the door.

                "I'm sorry," North replied, releasing her bottom lip and crossing her arms over her chest, "I'm just  nervous, I mean, what if they don't work it out. What will we do then?"

                "We'll carry on as we used to, they won't talk to each other and go back to being grumpy sods, we'll deal with it." Wales replied, his face set hard, but north could tell that even though he was being flippant about it he cared just as much as she did.

                "Don't tell me you want that?"

                Wales scoffed, "Of course not, I might not like them half the time but they're still my family, I prefer them when they're happy to when they're miserable. What I'm saying is that we can't force them back together, if they don't sort this out then we'll just have to grin and bear it. I guarantee it will be harder for them then it will for us."

                "And what if this is worse than that?"

                Wales frowned at her, "North, Scotland isn't going to leave. I mean, maybe he will, but if he leaves it's not going to be because of this. He'll still be up there, where he's always been."

                North nodded, hugging herself tighter, "I know, I know, I'm just- I don't want it to be like when Paddy left..."

                "C'mere," Wales said, taking his ear off of the door and walking over to wrap his arms around her, her own arms coming to tightly embrace him in return, "Nothing like that is going to happen. The shit you went through was awful North, we wouldn't let anything like that happen again, no matter how bad things get."

                She nodded, sniffing, "I just don't ever want it to come to that. I love our family, it's why I stayed with you guys and not Paddy, and I love him, I do, but I wanted to be with you lot and I-"

                "Hush, it's okay, you're here now, and Scotland's not going anywhere."

                "You can't promise that."

                "I can make a million empty promises to make my little sister feel better."

                North laughed, smacking him on the chest, "Shush you! You're supposed to say _'yes, of course I can'_ ," She said, clumsily mimicking Wales' accent, "' _Big brother Wales can do anything he sets his mind to, except cleaning his house or getting a date and-_ "

                "Yeah, okay, that's the last time I comfort you," Wales laughed, ruffling her hair, "Feeling better?"

                North nodded, "Yes, thank you."

                Wales smiled softly, and both of them returned their attention to the door.

~~~~

                "That is the single stupidest excuse I've ever heard in my life."

                "I'm not going to pretend it's not."

                England sighed, gritting his teeth, "What do you want me to say Scotland? Even if you had my best interests at heart you still managed to _forget_ about it for _seventy fucking years_."

                "I know, I know," Scotland groaned a little desperately, "I'm sorry I took your sword, I thought I was doing you a favour, so much of your stuff got destroyed in the raids, I didn't want you to lose everything so I took a few things and kept them safe. I realize now that was stupid but I was blinded by fear and wartime-haze. You have it back now, _please_ , I'm begging you, can we just-"

                England growled loudly, making Scotland stop abruptly, "Oh my god shut up!" He snarled, but before Scotland could get offended or hurt, England dragged him into a tight hug, "Fuck you. I hate you so fucking much, and I wish you'd stabbed yourself with that sword to save me the trouble." His voice was muffled by Scotland's chest, but seemingly went directly to his heart, lifting all of the weight off of it.

                He let out a sigh of relief, hugging England back even tighter. "I love you. Fuck. I love you so much. I'm so sorry."

                England sucked in a tight breath, reaching his arms up to wrap around his neck instead of his chest, leaning up on his toes to tuck his head into Scotland's neck, "I hate you and I wish you had stayed behind that bloody wall Rome built because then I couldn't love you so fucking much. Eugh!" He growled loudly in frustration, "Oh my god I hate you so much! I hate that I want to kiss every inch of you, and hold you forever and keep you for my own, and I never want to let you go."

                Scotland tucked his own head into England's neck, inhaling deeply, but before he could say anything, England turned his head and dragged him into a searing kiss. A kiss which told him in no uncertain terms that everything England had just said was true. And he fell in love three times over.

                When England pulled away he brushed a finger over Scotland's jaw, his eyes softly closed, and pressed their foreheads together, "Don't you dare do something that stupid again."

                Scotland shook his head, "No promises."

                England kissed him again then, softer, warmer, yet somehow more heat-wrenching, "I bloody love you."

                And it was said with so much raw emotion that Scotland wanted to cry. He kissed England once more, "I missed you so much."

                England kissed him back, with a powerful sense of desperation that sunk straight down to his core, "I want you so badly."

                "Then take me."

                And not much of the speech afterwards was more coherent than that.

~~~~

                The next day, Wales didn't complain about England and Scotland being disgusting. Nor did North complain they were giving her a cavity. They just played a game of monopoly, and drank a few cups of tea and a few more glasses of beer, and didn't mention anything about the last two months. Eventually they would talk about it. But not right now. Now was a time for peace.


	41. I Don't Need To Understand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, these boys are like my therapy or some shit. idk. All I know is no one should be subjected to this level of sap but whatever, I've had a rough week so I guess you'll all just have to deal with the sugar rush.
> 
> It's about time I posted back in this drab set again anyway.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

               They’d gotten _‘distracted’_ … again. It happened a lot and by this point they’d stopped trying to reign it in to any degree. A finger would trail absentmindedly up a thigh, then a finger would turn into a hand, and that hand would travel to the inside of a thigh, and then to between them, and then it was only a matter of time before they were half-naked, sweaty and curled into each other in a post-coital haze.

               It was a good job Wales wasn’t in. He wouldn’t be best pleased to say the least.

               Scotland ran a finger down England’s cheek, making England open his eyes blearily, humming out a questioning note. Perhaps it was egotistical, but Scotland loved the way England’s eyes went hazy after a nice good fuck. Deep and rich and half-lidded, because the guy could never keep his eyes open afterwards, not if he was warm and comfortable, and he’d stated on many an occasion such as this that Scotland’s naked chest certainly counted as both warm and comfortable.

               Scotland opened his mouth to say something before realising that he had nothing to say. He bit his tongue, rolled over and trapped England underneath him, pressing several soft kisses to his jaw.

               England hummed, hooking his naked legs around Scotland’s back as his arms snaked up around his neck, his mouth curving upwards and his eyes falling closed again. “You big lout, whatever do you think you’re doing?” He asked, his voice soft and hoarse and just a little bit slurred, because even if he hadn’t had enough alcohol to make him drunk, Scotland often had that effect on him anyway.

               Scotland didn’t respond for a long moment, taking his time in completing the line of kisses he’d begun before parting his lips from England’s skin just enough to mutter out something in Gaelic which made England lay his head back and sigh.

               “I do despise how you do this to me.”

               Another line of Gaelic, and England smiled wider, because he understood enough to know he was telling him to learn his language if he cared so much. God knows he’d heard the phrase enough.

               “Ah, but I couldn’t take that away from you.” England replied, as Scotland returned his attention to the skin of England’s neck, the stubble on his chin scratching gently along the lines of kisses. “Moreover,” England continued in consideration, “I couldn’t take that away from myself. Oh how I do love to pretend you’re whispering sweet nothings into my ears when you do that.”

               More Gaelic and a smile against England’s skin.                

               “You could be telling me that you want to rip me limb from limb, and all I’d be able to hear is how you want to kiss every inch of me.”

               Scotland’s kisses moved further up, to England’s cheeks and forehead, as another line of Gaelic was whispered into them. England felt him wrap himself tighter around Scotland, his teeth biting hard into his own lip.

               “Don’t you ever tell me what you’re really saying.”

               Scotland shook his head, a deep sigh escaping right after and followed by a long sentence breathed into England’s temple.

               England chewed his lip harder, “I mean it, don’t you dare.”

               Scotland didn’t reply that time, he just let his lips finally curve into England’s and England didn’t need to understand Gaelic to understand what he meant by it.

               He almost wished he didn’t.

               Because it was better than anything his mind could possibly think up.


	42. Don't Move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New headcanon that Scotland can draw. Don't ask me where it came from, because I honestly don't know, I just know that I like it. My headcanons come with the wind and stick even if they don't make sense. Eh, it might make sense. I can make anything make sense if I can be bothered to research some historical context. Fuck it.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

               “What’re you doing?”

               Scotland didn’t reply other than a brief flick of his eyes up from behind his knees and a slight frown. His lips pursed and he hummed to himself as he returned himself to whatever he was doing.

               England frowned with him, putting his book down and making to stand.

               “Don’t move.”

               “Excuse me?”

               “Pick your book back up, I’m not done yet.”

               “Are you drawing me?”

               “Yes. I’m drawing you, and you’re not making it easy for me. Keep reading.”

               England settled back, a slightly self-satisfied smile curling in his lips. He picked his book back up, but couldn’t bring himself to focus on the words anymore, his glasses sliding down his nose as he found himself watching Scotland’s brow crease, his tongue stick out and his eyes roll every time he caught England looking at him instead of reading.

               “You’re the worst model I’ve ever drawn.” Scotland said, blowing a piece of hair out of his eyes.

               “The royal painters always used to complain that I couldn’t sit still.” England replied, “It depended on the Royals themselves as to how much it was tolerated.”

               “I don’t know why they bothered to get a new painting of you each time they did. You’d hardly changed most of the time.” Scotland huffed, before pursing his lips as he seemingly thought of something, “Did you keep that one that was done of you in the fourteen-fifties? It was awful. I wanted to hang it above my fireplace and laugh at it.”

               “No, I’m afraid I rid myself of it about four hundred years ago.”

               “That’s a shame. I still kinda want to hang it above my fireplace and laugh at it.”

               “Hmmn, I admit I regret destroying it now.”

               Scotland glanced up with a snort, “You _destroyed_ it?”

               “Oh, _utterly_ ,” England chuckled, “Death by fire seemed appropriate.”

               “It’s like you love destroying everything that brings me joy.”

               “It’s my only pleasure in life, poppet.”

               “Careful or I’ll purposely fuck up your nose.”

               “You say that as if my nose isn’t already crooked.”

               Scotland bit his lip and looked up again, “Shit, you’re right.” He frowned and returned to his drawing.

               England snorted out a laugh, “How did you not realize my nose is crooked?”

               “Excuse me if your nose isn’t the bit I usually focus on.”

               “Then what do you usually focus on?”

               “Your legs.”

               England raised an eyebrow, a smirk coming to his lips, “Do you now?”

               “Yes,” Scotland replied, tilting his head slightly but not looking up from his drawing, “They’re unbearably sexy.”

               England’s smirk widened, “ _Are they_ now?”

               “Don’t get any ideas. I’m busy.”

               “You can’t just call me sexy and then expect me to sit across the room from you and bear it.”

               Scotland glanced up once again, a grin coming to his face, “I called your _legs_ sexy.”

               “So I doubt you’d be much opposed if I asked you to put your head between them.”

               Scotland’s eyes narrowed, “Do you think about anything but sex?”

               “You have to admit being drawn by your lover is rather erotic, no matter the state of dress.”

               He considered that for a moment, “So what you’re saying is that you blame me for the fact you’re constantly horny?”

               “No, but you certainly don’t help the situation,” England leered, licking his lips as he watched Scotland change positions and scratch a few more strokes of pencil onto the paper. Scotland looked up then, raising an eyebrow and beckoning England over.

               England himself wasted no time in trotting over to Scotland’s side and curling into him by throwing his legs over Scotland’s lap. The drawing itself was a fairly simple sketch of England sitting as he had been on his armchair, the shading was dark and the lines soft, all of it done with a talent that England hadn’t been aware that Scotland possessed. He’d known Scotland could draw, yes, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen one of his drawings. He did note though, that the distinct curve of his legs as they crossed had been drawn with extra attention.

               He smiled, “You fixed the nose then?”

               Scotland nodded, “You just have to make my life difficult, don’t you?”

               “Yours is crooked too.” England hummed, running a finger over the bump on the bridge of Scotland’s own nose where he’d failed to set it properly more than once. England would make fun of him for it if his own wasn’t out of line for the exact same reason.

               “But I don’t have to draw my own, now do I?”

               “I suppose not.”

               There was silence for a moment, as England’s fingers traced down Scotland’s nose to his cheek and jaw, and Scotland’s hand found itself trailing up England’s leg.

               “So what were you saying about thinking my legs were sexy?”

               Scotland just grinned.


	43. I Don't Have The Energy To Title This RN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written in like a half hour because reasons, okay? And yeah, sure, It hasn't been re-read or proofed to speak of, and yeah, sure, I'll probably regret posting this in the morning but idk how restraint works. I need to find myself an Alistair... 
> 
> Oh whatever, just...
> 
> Enjoy whatever the fuck this is.

When Scotland arrived back from his stay in Edinburgh, the first thing he noticed was that the house was messier than ususal. Not in a ‘someone’s been here and trashed it’ kind of way, but in a ‘This place hasn’t been cleaned in a few days’ kind of way. Although that could be attributed to the fact that England had gotten used to Scotland doing a lot of the cleaning and not bothering to do it, so he didn’t pay it much mind.

               The second thing he noticed was that Scone actually greeted him. The small Scottish fold trotted up to him and rubbed against his legs with a loud meow. He frowned at this, but simply stroked the cat briefly on the head, continuing on further into the house.

               A brief search yielded no England on the lower floor, which lead Scotland to resolve that he was in his study.

               But no…

               Okay, he was concerned now, England had promised to be home when he arrived.

               Deciding he was being paranoid, he headed toward England’s bedroom to change into something more comfortable.

               When he arrived, he was greeted by England, curled up on the bed and facing away from him. Was he still asleep? It was four in the afternoon…

               He sat down on the bed, reaching out a hand to squeeze England’s bare shoulder, intending to wake him up because really, four in the afternoon was neither a good time to go to sleep, nor to wake up.

               “You’re back already.”

               It was probably supposed to be a question, but the tone was so flat it sounded like a statement.

               “I am.” He replied, a worried frown on his face. Was this what he thought it was? Now that he thought back on it, all the signs were there, he just hoped the more severe ones weren’t. “Just when I said I’d be.”

               “Hmmn. Are you.”

               Scotland rounded the bed, peering down to look at England’s expression only to learn that there wasn’t one to speak of, only a slight downturn of his eyebrows. Luckily, those eyebrows seemed to be the worst symptom this time around. “Artie, are you-“

               “Stupid question, how does it look.”

               His suspicions confirmed, Scotland knelt down beside the bed, reaching out to take one of England’s hands in his and curling their fingers together gently. “It looks like shite. Do you want anything?”

               England’s eyes crinkled the tiniest amount at that, and Scotland smiled at the small victory.

               “No.”

               “When was the last time you ate?”

               “Last night.”

               “Drank?”

               “Last night.”

               Scotland stood, “Alright, I’m going to make tea and order dinner, and then we can sort out the rest, okay?”

               England just sighed.

               At this, Scotland rolled his eyes, leaning over the bed and scooping England up into his arms. He laughed at the surprised squawk he drew from the other man, pressing a kiss to his flustered cheek. “Lying in bed and feeling sorry for yourself isn’t helping either of us. We’re going sit downstairs on the couch and feel sorry for you together, got it? Now, what did you want for dinner?”

               England frowned at him, but after a few seconds of looking at Scotland’s grin, it melted into something softer, tiredly laying his head on Scotland’s shoulder. “Okay then. Can we order Indian?”

               “We can order whatever you want.” Scotland said softly as they started down the stairs, “I’ll go back to being a stubborn and argumentative piece of shit when you’re back to your usual self again. For now, I’m just worried about getting him back first. I miss the arrogant prat you usually are.”

               England just hummed noncommittally. Scotland didn’t mind so much, he’d gotten enough conversation out of him to consider himself accomplished. He as good as fell onto the couch, positioning them so they were pressed close and pulling a blanket from the back of the couch to wrap around them.

               “Hey, England,” He said, tilting England’s face up to look at him, “I know this doesn’t make it better, but I love you, okay?”

               England managed a small smile at that, “I love you too. Thank you for coming home.”

               Scotland sighed, brushing a hand through England’s hair, “Thank you for not doing anything stupid until I did.”

               England hummed, resting his head back in the crook of Scotland’s shoulder, and Scotland couldn’t help but press a kiss to his scalp before reaching into his pocket to order England’s Indian.

               Half an hour later they were tangled up together on that same couch watching classic doctor who while eating take away curry, and while Scotland more than knew it wasn’t a solution, if the slight upturn of England’s lips was anything to go by, then it was better.

               And really, better was all they could hope for.


	44. Rain and Chain Smoking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated this in ages... so here, have this weird little rambly thing. It's not proof read or particularly well thought out but haha you should expect that shit from me by now.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

When England saw Scotland, he was out behind the house, laying in the garden and staring up at the rumbling grey clouds above him. He watched him for a while from the back door, as he blew smoke rings up to mingle with the clouds, flicking the ash from his cigarette into the damp grass beside him.

It wasn’t until Scotland finished his first cigarette and moved directly onto a second, that England opened the door and went to join him.

He sat in the grass beside him, flopping backwards as he felt the familiar spitting raindrops of an oncoming storm on his face. He turned his head to watch Scotland take another drag, humming in thought.

“Is there any particular reason you’re laying out in the dirt and chain smoking?” he asked, receiving nothing but Scotland turning his head to blow smoke into his face as a reply.

England raised an eyebrow, making Scotland laugh and roll his eyes.

“It’s been a long day. I fucking hate paperwork.”

England made a noise of understanding, plucking the cigarette out of Scotland’s fingers and taking a long drag of his own, blowing the smoke out in Scotland’s face as Scotland had done to him a few moments earlier.

“I know what you mean, Wales had me translating documents.”

“From Welsh?” Scotland asked taking the cigarette back.

England nodded, “I hate his fucking language.”

Scotland laughed out a breath of smoke at that, “He knows, that’s why he makes you do it.”

England hummed, a deep frown on his face, “I know, smarmy git needs to find some other way to amuse himself. I’m fucking sick of being his punching bag for boredom.”  

“Isn’t that your official position in the UK though?” Scotland asked, snorting out a laugh as England punched his shoulder and stole the cigarette back.

“Piss off Scotland, I don’t need stick from you too.”

Scotland grinned, “I’m just kidding, you big baby. You’re so sensitive.”

England just glared at him through a deep drag of smoke.

Scotland gestured for him to move closer, “Here, if you’re gonna steal my fags then at least share.”

England rolled his eyes, but leant over and pressed their lips together, blowing the smoke from his lungs into Scotland’s mouth, which Scotland eagerly sucked down before pulling away and blowing out into England’s face.

“Those anti-smoking PSA’s are bollocks, second hand smoke isn’t anywhere near as good.” Scotland mused idly, his eyes flicking between England’s lips and the slowly burning cigarette.

“All of the cancer, none of the nicotine, what a shame it truly is.” England agreed, taking another drag.

Scotland rolled over so he was half draped over England’s front, sealing their lips back together again and sucking up the offered breath of smoke. After exhaling heavily into the damp air beside them, Scotland shrugged, “Yeah, but we don’t even get the cancer.”

“Shame that, isn’t it?”

Scotland sighed out an agreement, resting his head on England’s shoulder, “You ever wonder which of us will die first?”

England paused a moment to think about that, “Well, I’d always thought it would be me, although there were times when I hoped it would be you.”

“Is it bad I always thought it would be you too?”

England shook his head, “I was a small, sickly child, who grew into a cruel, cocky teenager, who then turned into a reckless, rebellious adult. The odds were always rather stacked against me.”

“I never _wanted_ it to be you though.”

England hummed, taking an absentminded drag to give himself time to think of a response.

Eventually he just settled on, “You’re a good big brother, Scotland. Despite what you might like to believe.”

Scotland didn’t reply to that, he rarely did respond to praise like that. His physical appearance he could hear you bang on about for years, but whenever it came down to anything personal he rarely managed more than a grunt. The talk of mortality had probably gotten to him too, England was surprised he’d brought it up, but he supposed he shouldn’t have been. Chain smoking and staring at the sky had prompted his own existentialism more than once.

They layed in silence for a while after that, trading the cigarette off every now and again until it was burned down to the filter.

“It’s going to rain.” England said as he felt the first large drop hit his face.

“What else is new?”

“We’ll get wet.”

“Who cares?”

England lifted Scotland’s head, looking deep into his eyes as the heavens opened above them and the rain started soaking through their clothes. Their gazes travelled to each other’s lips at almost exactly the same moment, making the both of them laugh at themselves. Scotland pressed his lips together through his own laugh, sliding up England’s body just enough to shield his face from the worst of the rain.

“I’ve always wanted to be kissed in the rain.” He grinned.

“You have.” England raised an eyebrow, his fingers curling into the rapidly dampening fabric of Scotland’s shirt.

“The first one doesn’t count, and the point is, I haven’t been kissed in the rain by _you_.”

“What a romantic notion.”

“I have my moments.”

“Painfully cliché moments.”

“They’re your favourite kind though, I know you.”

“All too well, it seems.”

And then they were kissing in the rain, in the mud of England’s back garden, surrounded by stubbed out cigarette butts, and grinning like the idiots they were.


	45. Scaly and Coldblooded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two days in a row of me posting, what kind of horrible alternate universe have we entered? I'm genuinely concerned for myself.
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

               “Haha! Fuck you!”

               “No, no fucking way! You’re not winning this one you cheating English son of a bitch!”

               “That’s no way to talk about Mum, Scotland!”

               “Come on Big Boy! We’re not going to let him win, are we?”

There was a happy whinnying from below him, and he kicked his heels against the horse’s sides to spur him on faster, after England and his own horse.

He knew, of course that he would likely lose this race, Angus wasn’t built for going fast, he was built for heavy lifting, much like Scotland himself. England’s horse was a nimble thing, built for exactly what they were doing. Beautiful, quick, intelligent. He supposed it was true what they said about pets being like their owners.

“Oh you _wish_!” England laughed happily, making the kind of hand gesture which would make the Prime Minister scold him heartily.

England did beat him to the top of the hill, and was waiting with a pink face and a huge grin when Scotland joined him, climbing off of his horse with a triumphant laugh and a scratch to the creature’s ear. “There you go, Di, have a rest sweetheart.” He said to her, before wandering over to where Scotland was climbing off of Angus.

Scotland rolled his eyes at him, reaching into his bag and pulling out a bottle of water, which he downed half of before handing to England.

“What with how slow the two of you were going I’m surprised you’re even out of breath.” He said, before eagerly gulping down the rest of the water.

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in, just ignore the fact that you’re riding a racehorse.”

England chuckled, “I intend to.” He looked up at the sky then, unusually clear for this time of year, squinting at the skyline, “Have you been keeping an eye on where Wales got to?”

Scotland shook his head, sitting cross-legged on the grass and glancing around the sky as well, “No, I’ve been keeping an eye on your arse the whole way up here. Your legs are amazing in jodhpurs by the way.”

England hummed out a laugh sitting beside him and picking at the grass, “They have nothing on yours, my dear. I hate to admit it, but you might just have had the right idea having the slower horse.” His eyes flickered up from his task of picking blades of grass just long enough to smirk in Scotland’s direction, making Scotland grin in return.

“Never let it be said I’m not the brains of the operation.” He said, tapping his temple and making England snort.

“Oh, no, _definitely_ , that’s you to a t that is.”

“Are you mocking me, England?” Scotland said in mock seriousness, leaning over to hover his face near England’s and completely failing to keep a straight face.

England gasped dramatically, turning his face to look at Scotland in melodramatic horror, “Oh heavens above, I wouldn’t _dare_!”

“Are you _sure_ , because it sounded like you were insulting my intelligence.”

England cupped his face between his hands, his bottom lip sticking out just a little bit too far, “I couldn’t _possibly_ , surely you’re mistaken!”

Scotland laughed, taking England’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, “I fucking hate you, you know that?”

England’s face turned from fake innocence to sarcastic affection, his voice going deep and his hands slipping around Scotland’s neck instead, “And I despise you too, poppet.”

Scotland grinned, “You disgust me.”

England did too, “You’re abhorrent.”

“Awful.”

“Repulsive.”

“Hideous.”

“Loathsome.”

“Sickening.”

“Fucking kiss me.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Before they had the chance for even so much as a peck, however, a huge gust of wind and the thudding noise of something giant landing in front of them broke them apart.

Wales.

Fucking cockblock.

He grinned down slightly maliciously from Gwalnog’s head, “Oh I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“Oh fuck off Wales!” Scotland called up to him, “You don’t catch us walking in on you and Shaun the sheep during your ‘private time’!”

“Don’t project you sexual deviance onto me! I saw you sneaking into Old Macdonald’s you filthy fuck!”

“I’m not the one who’s in a committed relationship with a reptile!”

“Does Nessie know you’ve broken up with her, or has she not got the text yet?”

Before Scotland could reply with what was certainly going to be the ‘comeback of the century’, at least in his own mind, North arrived on her own horse, which was more of a pony really, closely followed by Ireland.

“Okay ladies, I get it, you’re both dating something scaly and coldblooded. Now, shut up and get riding, last one to the lake gets to clean out the stables!”

England immediately pushed Scotland over, ignoring the implication of her words in favour of not having to clean the stables. “Fuck that, have fun Scotland!” He proclaimed, scrambling over to his horse like his life depended on it.

“No, not again!” Scotland growled, running after him as he clambered onto his horse and dragging him back before he had the chance to get properly seated. England let out an undignified squeal as he was dragged from his horse, his flailing causing the both of them to fall to the ground in a clumsy heap.

England’s horse, to her credit, didn’t even flinch, just looked down at them tiredly as if she’d had to deal with shit like this one too many times.

“Let me go, you brute! I refuse to-“

“Yeah, well I’m not cleaning them either!“

“It’s your own fault you brought the slower horse!”

“You seemed to think it was a great idea a minute ago!”

“Yeah, but then the only thing on the line was ogling your arse!”

“Well, you can ogle all you want when-“

Scotland was cut off by a deep, searing kiss, the kind which made him temporarily lose brain function for a brief moment. The kind of kiss England was criminally good at giving, making you completely lose your grip on reality and unfortunately, it also made him lose his grip on England.

And this time he wasn’t quick enough to stop him.

“That’s cheap!” he yelled after the rapidly shrinking form of England as he climbed onto his horse.

Another hand gesture which would earn him a scolding, prompting Scotland to kick Angus into full gear and race after the rest of his family.

Scotland ended up mucking the stables.

He fucking hated England.

He also hated his inability to actually hate England.

Because dealing with his smug comments while the shovelled horse shit was definitely hateable.

It didn’t matter either way, England could ogle all he wanted, but he wouldn’t be getting anywhere near this arse for a good long while.


End file.
